


Peace Is A Journey

by spontaneite



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Geographical Divergence, F/M, Logistics: The true king, Other, Rayllum, S3 compliant, Slow Burn, Travel, Worldbuilding, and this changes things, i'm talking at least 500k, in which the continent is much larger, s3 context included, tagged characters have plotlines or will have plotlines in the near future, will be a very long story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2019-12-25 12:43:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 176,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18261533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spontaneite/pseuds/spontaneite
Summary: It was a long way to Xadia. A really, really long way. A month's travel if they were lucky. If they weren’t lucky....well, it could take twice that, or even longer.It would take a miracle to get the egg to the Dragon Queen before war broke out. But what else could they do?(AU in which the Xadian continent is much larger, the kids and their egg will be travelling together for a long, long time, and canon lays dying in a ditch along the way)





	1. Approaching the Belt i

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited: 25/11/19, season 3 information and minor stylistic changes. Chapter now contains exceptionally mild s3 spoilers.

The day began auspiciously enough, what with the discussion of Primal Sources and Callum successfully managing to get Rayla to agree to a very slight detour to the Banther Lodge. It was far more understanding and compromise than he might have expected from an elf, given all the stories, so he felt quite optimistic as he set out that day.

Of course, then he had to put his foot in it with his unfortunate assumptions about the diet of elves. And now Rayla was walking ahead of he and Ez with a sort of rigidity to her shoulders that implied she was unhappy about it. But, really, how was he supposed to know? _Everyone_ knew that elves were blood-drinkers – or, well. Everyone _said_ that they were. Wrongly, maybe, but – well. How was he supposed to _know_ that?

At any rate, it was an uncomfortable situation all around. Especially given they probably wouldn’t arrive at the lodge until evening at the earliest, which made for a whole lot of uncomfortable silence to fill the time with.

Ezran, of course, wasn’t having any of that. “I think you annoyed her.” He said, in what was probably meant to be a whisper but carried perfectly well in the quiet forest. Callum winced.

“Wow, really? I never would have noticed. _Thanks_.” He muttered back to his brother, folding his arms.

Entirely unmoved by the sarcasm, Ez hefted the dragon egg in his arms, and persisted: “You _were_ kind of a jerk.”

 “Thank you, I appreciate that, please – do tell me more.” He glanced to the side, saw the hint of a smile building on the kid’s face, and _immediately_ knew what was running through his head. “ _No,_ Ez, I know what you’re thinking, and _no_.”

“But-“

“The Crazy Jerkface Dance is not for-“ he bit off the word _strangers,_ “-people we just met.” Ahead of them, he saw Rayla’s head tilt very slightly in their direction, as if listening more closely. He spared a moment to hope, sincerely, that she would not ask.

Ezran’s jaw set, stubbornly. It was a familiar look on him. “Well, maybe not the _dance._ ” He allowed, generously. “But you can’t be a jerk to someone and just leave it.”

Why did Dad have to raise him so well? “…You’re not wrong.” He admitted, begrudgingly.

“Which means I’m right.” Bait, sat atop the egg, croaked as if to reinforce the statement.

Callum sighed, deeply. “Yes, Ez. You’re right. Congrats.” Ezran stared at him expectantly, and so did Bait, and the combination of the stares was enough to finally prod him into moving. He sped up enough to start catching up with the maligned elf in question, and clearly she heard him coming because she turned to stare at him suspiciously as he approached. “Rayla,” he said, reaching her side and slowing down.

“….Yes, Callum?” She answered, flatly, glancing briefly at him before returning her eyes to the path ahead.

“I’m sorry for what I said.” He expressed quickly, the words sort of hurried, just to make sure he’d get them out. “For thinking you were. You know, a blood-drinker. And that you’d try to feed Ez blood. I, well. I wasn’t thinking.” He wrung his hands a little, jittery with the social awkwardness of it all, and tried not to be too anxious while waiting for her response.

She was quiet for a second, and glanced at him again. The narrow-eyed tension ebbed a little. “…It’s not your fault, I guess.” She said, after a moment. “You just don’t know any better.”

His nerves settled a bit at the implied forgiveness, and he cleared his throat. “Still. I’ll try not to just…assume things like that, from now on.”

Her posture eased even more, and she eyed him a fair bit more tolerantly. “Makes me wonder if there’s anything I think I know about humans that I have completely wrong.” She commented, in an obvious enough progression of subject matter that Callum felt mostly off the hook. And, actually, he _was_ kind of curious, now that she mentioned it.

Ez, having eavesdropped shamelessly on the whole thing, hurried forwards to look up brightly at Rayla. “Like what?” He inquired, apparently just as interested as Callum.

“Well,” She mused pensively, looking ahead as if deep in thought. “You all have ten fingers and fourteen toes, right?”

Callum had started nodding at ‘ten fingers’, nearly choked on his own saliva at ‘fourteen toes’, and then did a double-take just in time to see her trying and failing to smother a grin. “…I admit, you had me going for a second there.”

Ezran giggled and kicked his feet up experimentally for his next few steps. “Imagine having fourteen toes! Do you think we’d still fit in our shoes?”

“If we didn’t, we’d just make bigger shoes, I guess.” Callum shrugged, and glanced briefly at Rayla’s own footwear. He wasn’t sure if she just had smallish feet or if they actually were slim enough to suggest fewer toes than the human norm. “…So, do elves have the same number of toes as fingers?” He inquired, figuring he might as well just ask.

“No, we’ve got ten toes, same as humans.” Rayla answered, utterly straight-faced. He stared at her, nonplussed.

“I can’t actually tell if you’re joking or not.” He complained, and received his answer easily enough as she immediately snickered at him.

After a second, she took pity on him, still snickering, and clarified “We have eight.”

“Huh.” Callum was reminded, abruptly, of his historic struggles with drawing human feet. He wasn’t so bad at them anymore, but once, they’d been his single most detested body part to attempt to render. He turned to stare ahead, brow furrowing a little as he imagined the different lines he’d need for a four-toed foot. And, for that matter, a four-fingered hand. He wanted, suddenly, to look at Rayla’s hands to inspect their configuration, but that would probably be pretty weird of him, given he’d not even known her a day.

His fingers itched for his sketchbook. He stubbornly held them still.

He became aware, suddenly, that Rayla was something. “-allum. Callum. What are you thinking about _now?_ ”

“Oh? Huh? Nothing much. Why?” he responded automatically, turning to blink at her.

“She asked you a question.” Ezran informed him.

“I asked you a question.” Rayla agreed.

“Sorry, I guess I tend to daydream a lot.” He shrugged. “What is it?”

She eyed him for a moment, but repeated it easily enough. “I asked how far it is to this winter lodge of yours.”

“Oh. Hmm.” Callum looked ahead as if trying to see all the way ahead to their destination. “It’s a good while yet. I think we’ll maybe get there in late afternoon, early evening.”

Rayla considered that. “Might want to keep an eye out for food on the way, then. Stop by a berry bush for lunch.” She hesitated, as if considering saying something else, but in the end kept quiet.

“We’ve not even had _breakfast.”_ Ezran pointed out. “And, wait, Callum – we’re going to the _Banther Lodge?”_

“Yeah, didn’t you – oh, you were asleep.” He remembered. “Right. I wanted to go there to pick up that weird cube in the game room. I think it might be magic. And the lodge is on the way, anyway, so…”

Ez frowned at him. “…Okay, I guess. But aren’t you worried there might be people there?”

“It’s the _winter lodge_ , Ez. And it’s spring. No one is gonna be there.”

“Yeah, but…Isn’t the Banther Lodge where dad was sending us?”

Callum stopped walking, and after a step, so did the others. “….Oh.” he expressed, eyes widening. “…yeah. Yeah, it is, isn’t it. Um. Whoops?”

Rayla gave him a long look. “’No winter, no humans’?” She parroted back at him a little sardonically, eyebrows raising.

“Yeah, I really didn’t think that one through.” He admitted, slumping. “If dad sent us there, he’d definitely have sent some guards. Maybe it’s not worth risking it, then.” He thought of the six symbols drawn into his sketchbook, and the primal stone in his bag, and felt his face falling. He’d thought the cube could be something important – something that could help him become a mage, but…it was probably just an old Xadian toy or something. Probably not worth the risk.

It was still a bummer, though.

A second later, he noticed that Rayla was still staring at him, now looking vaguely indecisive. “…What?”

She crossed her arms, muttered something indistinct about heartfelt speeches, and then produced a very put-upon sigh. “It _probably_ wouldn’t hurt if we stopped _near_ the lodge, and I went to check if there’s any humans around.” She announced, finally.

He straightened, eyes wide. “What, really?” He asked, astonished by this unexpected benevolence.

She rolled her eyes tolerantly, and smiled a little. “ _Yes_ , really. It should be fine as long as you lot stay back, and don’t go blundering in all-“ She waved her hand expressively in the air as she searched for words. “-Loud. And clumsy.”

“Thanks, Rayla.” He said sincerely, at the same time as Ezran said “Callum’s the clumsy one!”

Their eyes turned his way, and he added “He’s clumsy, not me. I can be pretty quiet when I want to be. But I’m carrying a dragon egg, so I don’t think I can do sneaky too well either.”

Rayla pointed to Callum first, “You’re welcome-“ And then Ezran, “-and, duly noted.”

By this point, though, Callum was occupied with his brother. “Since when am I the clumsy one?” He demanded, crossing his arms.

Tactfully, Rayla put a hand on his shoulder, and he was momentarily distracted by his earlier thoughts about elf hand structure. They really were just…like that, weren’t they? They didn’t look like they were missing a finger at all. They were just sort of…less wide than human hands. “Callum,” She said, diplomatically, interrupting his musing. “I’ve seen you trip over tree roots twice today already. We’ve not even been walking an hour.”

Well. When you put it _that_ way…. “Alright, maybe I am a little clumsy.” He admitted, a little sulkily. “So what?”

She removed her hand, shot him a vaguely smug-looking smile, and turned to keep walking. “So, you leave the sneaking to me.”

“I can live with that.” Ezran said, trotting off after her.

“Let’s hurry up a little. If we want to get there in good time for a sneak-around today, then no more lollygagging.”

In the end, Callum declined to ask whether _lollygagging_ was a real word or not, and just obediently followed after her.

 

\---

 

In the end, some lollygagging turned out to be warranted: firstly, because Ezran’s little legs weren’t used to all this walking and needed a rest; secondly, because Callum’s less-little legs weren’t faring much better; and thirdly, because Rayla spotted a bush of something edible at a lunch-appropriate hour on the way.

Berries, as it happened, didn’t really go a long way towards satisfying hunger. He felt better than before, sure, and they tasted alright, if a bit sour…but, well, it was no bacon and eggs. Or a good sandwich. Or even a jelly tart. He peeled another stick of berries from the bush, making a face at them, and picked them one by one from their twigs, fingers becoming incrementally more and more red-stained.

…Come to think of it, they hadn’t really planned for the feeding-themselves aspect of the journey, had they?

….or any part of the journey at all, to be honest.

Callum frowned, licking berry juice from his fingers, and wiped his hands on his pants. Then he shuffled away from the bush and pulled his sketchbook into his lap, flipping one page past the symbols Rayla had drawn that morning. His charcoal hovered over the page as he called the memory of his lessons to mind, and after a moment, sketched out a rough map of Katolis in quick lines.

He put a mark down for the capital they’d vacated last night, and drew in the major rivers and lakes he could remember, as well as a few inverted V-shapes to indicate where the mountain ranges were. Then, at the north-east edge of Katolis, he drew a long bold line to represent the harsh divide of the Breach. He remembered, with some dismay, how long it had taken last time they travelled to the Great Bay for summer – and that had been with horses! And boats! And travelling on the roads!

It was a long way to Xadia. A really long way. A month's travel if they were lucky, and could catch a ship or two to speed it up, and the weather didn’t strand them anywhere for too long, and they didn’t have to go over any mountains, and there weren’t any other setbacks. And…that was a lot of ‘if’s.  If they weren’t lucky....well, the journey could take a lot more than a month. And that wasn’t even _counting_ how far into Xadia they’d need to travel once they got to the border.

It would take a miracle to get the egg to the Dragon Queen before the war could break out. But what else could they do?

“Something on your mind?” Rayla inquired from beside him, wiping off her own red fingertips on the edge of a tooth.

“Just…the way to Xadia. And how I didn’t think this through.” He tapped his charcoal against his hand, troubled, as he stared at the map. Rayla pulled herself over after a second to look down, tilting her head at the shape on the page. She hummed briefly with recognition, and settled next to him. “…How long did it take you to get to the castle from the border?” He noticed Ezran looking over, listening, as he presented a small bunch of berries to Bait.

Rayla frowned a little herself, perhaps reading the track of his thoughts. “’Bout two months.” She admitted, apologetically.

Ezran made an incredulous noise around a mouthful of fruit, and Callum wasn’t feeling much better. “ _Two –_ why did it take you so long?”

“We went the most isolated and impassable ways we could, to make sure no one spotted us.” She answered, quietly, not meeting his eyes. “It added a lot of time to the journey, even when we went as fast as we could. But it was necessary. Maybe not for us, though.”

“Why not?” he asked, a little desperate for any shred of hope of shortening the journey.

She offered a half-smile, and pulled up her hood, throwing her face into shadow. “If we’re careful, we can hide that I’m an elf. That’s a bit harder to do with _six_ elves, maybe, but if it’s just me…I think we can afford to risk getting closer to human towns.” She flipped her hood down again, hair and ears and horns returning to view.

He made an interested noise. “Well, if you keep your hands hidden, sure, maybe.” He cast a doubtful glance at the map. “It’s still a really long way, though. Maybe there’ll be some food at the Banther Lodge that we can take with us.” Rayla shuffled a little at that, but didn’t say anything. He eyed her. “…What?”

“I was wondering – if we’re going to this lodge of yours for your _magic cube,_ maybe we should try to pick up some supplies for the journey.”

Ezran spoke up, apparently done with his lunch. “Like what? Food?”

“I mean _supplies.”_ Rayla reiterated, a little impatiently. “Long trips like this take a lot of doing, you know? I’m not sure what you’ve got packed, but I’ve only got what I’m wearing. My – the camp was on the wrong side of the castle for us to pick anything up on the way out. If we try to make the trip to Xadia without _supplies,_ let me tell you, we will _not_ have a fun time.”

“I didn’t think about that.” Callum admitted, noticing for the first time that she didn’t have a bag of any sort on her. “I…hm.” He stared back down at his sketchbook for a second, then turned to the back page to pick out a folded sheet of rough paper that was made for times like this. He held the charcoal poised. “I don’t actually have any idea of the sorts of things we’d need for travelling alone without twenty guards and however many household staff – maybe we should make a list? And if it’s in the lodge, you can see if you can pick it up.”

Rayla blinked, looking down at the paper. “Sounds good.” She said after a moment. “Let me think. There’s a lot of stuff, I’ll definitely forget some of it. Let’s see…well, what have you got in your bags already?”

“I have some clothes.” Ezran volunteered, pulling his bag open to inspect the contents. Bait promptly hopped into it, sitting atop the egg. “And dried jelly tart goop. And jelly tart crumbs. And a dragon egg, and Bait.”

Callum opened his own bag to check. He’d sort of packed in a hurry, and definitely hadn’t been thinking about it much. “I’ve got a few sets of clothes, my sketchbook, and a primal stone.”

Rayla made a vaguely disapproving noise. “Well, at least your drawing book thingy has a strap. What clothes do you two have? How many?”

He reflected that it was very weird to end up in a situation where he might need to tell a near-stranger how many pairs of underwear he had with him. “Er. I’ll check.” He said, and rifled through the bag to make a full accounting, Ezran doing the same.

“I’ve got two pairs of underpants, and one pair of pants and a spare shirt and undershirt. Couple of socks.” Ezran reported, making a face. “They’re all covered in jelly though.” Rayla nodded at him, then pointed expectantly at Callum.

“Er. Three underpants, one pants, two undershirts, one shirt, one jacket, a cloak, and socks. Plus what I’m wearing.” He plucked at the front of his jacket, as if demonstrate. “So I guess overall I’ve got two jackets, two shirts, two undershirts, two pants, and…you get the picture.”

She nodded, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Well, that’s a start. Callum, is that jacket good for cold weather? Or the cloak?”

He blinked. “…Not, really? It’s basically the same as the one I’m wearing. Same colour, even. And the cloak is more for if it rains – it’s a little bit rainproof.” He tugged on his jacket to demonstrate its thickness, and then pulled out the edges of a black cloak from his bag to show her that. “It’s spring, though, and it’ll only get warmer. Do we _need_ cold-weather stuff?”

She reached out to feel at the cloak, and made a dubious noise. “If we end up going through the mountains, _yes._ ” She assured him, dry. “Okay. What I was taught about packing light is that you want one set of clothes to wear, and then a second one you can wear when you wash the first pair. And, you know, so on. So you, Ezran – you’ll want a spare jacket of some sort, and some winter things. Callum, you just need winter things.”

“Well, good thing it’s the winter lodge, then.” Callum remarked.

“We’ve got some _really_ fluffy cloaks there. And gloves. And scarves, and hats.” Ezran informed her.

“They’d all be in our room or the cloakroom, so easy to find.” He paused, and gestured at his book. “Are we definitely going into the lodge then? Even if there’s people there? Because if we are, I can draw you a floor plan.”

Rayla raised her eyebrows at that, but nodded. “Even if it turns out to be packed with humans, we do need the supplies.” She admitted. “Better to get them from your things than have to steal from someone.”

“Not-stealing is definitely a bonus. Stealing from one’s citizens is not a very princely thing to do.” Callum said sagely, and Ezran nodded solemnly along with him.

“On that, we agree.” Rayla said, and scrutinised the book and charcoal. “…Well, you draw your floor plan, and I’ll have a think about the things we need.”

Callum did not require a great deal of prompting to get highly occupied with drawing, so he happily took that directive, putting charcoal to loose leaf paper and frowning in concentration as he mapped out the shapes of the Banther Lodge into a recognisable map of the rooms and floors. He couldn’t quite resist doing something a bit more comprehensive, so after a moment, he started drawing tiny representations of several of the rooms around the edges, adding helpful lines to make it obvious where they were on the plan.

While he was doing that, apparently, Rayla was consulting with Ezran about the locations of varying things in the lodge, not that he heard or noticed a word of it. At any rate, when he was basically done and presented the plan to Rayla, she seemed like a girl who had a game plan. All sort of….determined and focused, and satisfied. “Thanks.” She said, accepting the page and looking over it, eyebrows raising a little again. “…Hm.”

“Is it not good?” Callum asked after a second, face falling.

“No, it’s…fine.” She assured him, with an absentminded flap of her hand. “…Don’t suppose you could mark where the windows are on here as well?”

“Oh, right, of course.” He took the drawing back and sketched in quick lines on the floor plan. “Like that?”

“…Yes. Yeah, that’s good.” Rayla’s expression was a little strange as she received the updated drawing. “If it’s accurate, that’s a lot more information than I’ve had before when sneaking into places.”

“Callum has a really good memory.” Ezran informed her proudly. “So it’ll definitely be accurate.” Callum reached over to pat his brother’s shoulder affectionately, and then turned back to Rayla.

“So, did you work out what we’ll need?”

“Yep. Or most of it, anyway. If I think of more on the way – actually, do you mind if I write a list on the back of this?” She brandished the floor plan.

He waved agreeably towards the paper with both hands. “Of course, go ahead. It’s just loose paper.” For good measure, he passed over his spare stick of charcoal so she could actually write.

She muttered a thanks and stood as she took it, already writing. “If you two are good to go, I’d best do this while we walk. We’ve still got a lot of ground to cover.”

Bait, as if understanding the urgency, shot his tongue out to pry another mouthful of berries from the bush. Callum considered it a fairly sound idea, and snapped off a few larger clusters to eat on the way, passing one to Ez. “Yeah, okay.” He nodded, and stood. “Let’s go.”

 

\---

 

The light of the day was growing dim by the time Rayla began to hear the distant sounds of voices; she held up her hand and stopped, ducking backwards into the shelter of a tree’s shadow. Callum opened his mouth to start to say something, but she held a finger to his mouth and shushed him, listening carefully.

The clatter and clamour of distant armour. Voices. It was very faint, but…

“I hear people.” She said, lowly, and tilted her head. “Reckon that’ll be the lodge over there?” She nodded towards the sound.

Callum and Ezran exchanged a glance, and both nodded. “I don’t hear anything.” Callum said, thankfully very quietly, “But yeah. This place looks about familiar.”

“I think that’s the rock I tripped over last year, see?” Ezran pointed out a rock next to a fallen tree covered in a thick sheet of moss and greenery. “I remember because it was next to the tree.”

“Shh.” Rayla reminded, as his voice was louder than she’d prefer, and after a second of listening, spoke again. “Let’s get some distance between us and the heavily-armed humans. _Be quiet.”_ She mimed zipping her mouth shut and stared at them until she was reasonably sure they’d listen, and then directed them away. She spared a moment to wonder if humans even had zips, to understand the gesture, and then shook her thoughts back to practicality.

She’d need them to stop somewhere secluded and out-of-the-way of the humans’ patrol paths. Somewhere she could leave them without having to worry too much about them running into trouble while she was gone. Unfortunately, the direction she chose to search for this ‘somewhere’ seemed to be in the direction of deep water, because she was quite certain she could hear a river nearby.

Well. Sometimes life was just like that.

The river came into view only a few minutes later, and after scanning the treeline for anything likely, she found a nice enclosed area where the trees and foliage ought to hide the princes from casual sight, and that was also not too close to the river. She marched them up to it, made a quick circle of the trees, and nodded slightly to herself. “Wait here a second.” She directed them, and jumped up the nearest tree.

“Hey-“ He heard Callum protest, startled, but she ignored him.

She pulled her way through the branches as high as she could go, and looked out from between the leaves.

The lodge was visible, even from this reasonable distance. The clearing its grounds left in the forest was very distinctive, and she could see the top of the roof sloping above the trees. The river they’d come up against seemed to run down one side of it. She couldn’t see a lot of the actual ground from this angle, but – there did seem to be horses there, and humans milling about in the open area.

It was a good thing night was coming. Humans had rubbish eyesight in the dark – she’d have a much better chance of getting away with looting the lodge for supplies under their noses. It heavily depended on where they were stationing their soldiers, though. If there were too many _inside_ the lodge…well, they might have to give it up as a bad thought.

Rayla considered the distant clearing for a few moments more, then descended the tree, finding the princes milling uncertainly about the bottom.

“You climb trees really fast.” Ezran informed her, sounding very impressed.

“Thanks?” She offered a hesitant smile, and then dropped down lightly to the ground from the last branch. “I had a wee look up there – there’s a good few humans about that lodge. I want you two to stay here while I go have a closer look at their patrol patterns, see what they’re up to.”

Callum nodded at her, eyebrows dropping a little into an expression of vague concern. “So you’re not going to try to go into the lodge yet?”

“Nah. Just doing a bit of reconnaissance.” It had been thoroughly trained into her to carefully observe and map out the area and security of a place before trying to slip through its defences. The fact that neither she nor the rest of the assassins had done any preliminary recon of the castle at all was testament to how much they’d had to rush to make it in time for the full moon. “I shouldn’t be any longer than half an hour, alright? Stay hidden. They might be patrolling.”

“We will.” Callum put a hand on Ezran’s shoulder, as if to ward him from walking off. “…Good luck? Happy sneaking.”

She snorted, flashed them a half-grin as she pulled her hood down, and then jumped back into the tree, this time using it as a platform to start swinging through the rest of them. She paused every few trees to stop and listen, careful for the sounds of nearby humans trampling through the undergrowth, and eventually heard a few. She stopped hidden in the branches above a pair of armoured humans, both women, who were walking in a fairly straight line through the forest, talking idly with one another.

Rayla listened to see if they were saying anything useful, and they sort of were. One of them was expressing relief over getting to patrol instead of setting up camp. The second disagreed, because she apparently liked dealing with tents more than walking around after they’d already been riding all day.

So, the humans were setting up camp at the lodge. With tents. That implied they weren’t staying _inside_ the lodge.

Feeling vaguely more optimistic, she waited for them to pass her by, trying to trace their route from what she’d seen. A basic perimeter walk, maybe? They weren’t far from the lodge. Maybe only fifty or sixty metres out.

Once the guards were far enough to probably not hear it, Rayla leaped to the next tree and continued her progress to the edge of the clearing, growing slower and more cautious the closer she came. Most of the trees here were pines, which didn’t make her job easier, but she managed. The sun was setting to the west, and since she’d approached from the easterly side of the lodge, the large building in the clearing was casting a convenient shadow over the treeline she’d approached from. She watched the skyline, briefly, some tension in her face that she’d not been paying attention to easing a little as the light dimmed. She sighed, the shadows a welcome relief to her eyes, and felt the coming night prickle her into alertness. _Good._

She sat in the tree and looked out at the lodge, quietly withdrawing the paper Callum had drawn on to inspect its correspondence to reality. She’d been impressed by the quality of the drawing, but Ezran had been right – it really _was_ accurate. It was a novel experience, sneaking around a place she had an actual map for. She nodded to herself, satisfied, and put the paper away again, eyes now tracking the force of humans in the area.

There were fewer than she’d feared. Only about ten, including what looked like their commander, a man wearing that cloak and armour she recognised from the castle Crownguard. He was standing over by the lines of horses out to the front of the house, not far from the slope of the river that ran eastwards to where she’d left the princes. He seemed to be taking reports from two other soldiers, but was too far away for her to hear anything being said.

Rayla cast a glance to the rest of the humans, finding two apparently in the process of pitching tents to the rear of the lodge. They were planning to stay for a while, then. And they couldn’t have arrived too long ago, or their camp would be set up already. It was late, for humans to still be setting up. They’d have difficulty getting things done in the dark.

She considered the number of humans, and the number of horses. There were an even sixteen horses, so…perhaps she should assume the presence of the same number of humans. Ten were in the clearing, and she’d seen two on patrol, which left four unaccounted for. They might be on patrol, or they might be in the lodge.

After some consideration, she left her tree for the next one over, picking her way quietly around the edge of the treeline, closer to where the commander was taking reports. He was well away from the trees, close to the river as he was, but the wind was in her favour – once she got into the right position, she could just about hear their conversation.

She settled into a well-concealed branch and listened.

He finished taking reports from those two soldiers, and then another two came out of the lodge and talked to him as well. Another two emerged from the shadow of the forest about ten minutes later, and she recognised them as the patrol guards from earlier. There was still no sign of the last two hypothetical humans, but the reports shed some light on that.

It was a good haul of intel. Rayla considered it more than enough, and once the commander turned to write a letter for the crow one of his people was offering, she turned to glide back through the trees.

She kept eastwards until she saw the river, and adjusted her course back to where she’d left the boys. She found them sat where she’d left them, Callum with his sketchbook out and Ezran peering over his shoulder, making comments. She dropped down in front of them without ceremony, and both jumped back, shrieking a little from shock. She smirked slightly and, somewhat needlessly, announced “I’m back.”

“Er, yes, so we noticed.” Callum said, wide-eyed, hand resting lightly over his chest like a fainting maiden. “You scared the crap out of me!”

“I forget sometimes how easy it is to sneak up on you humans.” She lied, grinning, and leaned over to glance at what he’d been drawing. The egg of the Dragon Prince, apparently. It was only half-shaded, but already impressive. She wasn’t quite sure how he managed to get the look of the light and glow with just grey charcoal.

“How did it go at the lodge?” Ezran asked, looking up at her. “Did anyone see you?”

“’Course not.” She made a vaguely derisive noise at the mere thought. “It all went fine. I think we can do this.”

Callum perked up. “So there’s not too many people?”

“’Bout sixteen, I’d say, but they’ve already searched the lodge, so if there’s anyone posted in there, it won’t be more than two people.” She answered, thinking back to the conversation she’d eavesdropped on. “They’re looking for you. They knew you’d been sent here, and thought you might have managed to arrive before them. They’re setting up camp to wait and see if you show up.”

“Huh. I guess that makes sense. Did you listen to what they were saying, then?” He closed his book and put it down at his side, interested.

“Yep. And turns out we got very, very lucky.” She sighed a little at the memory of the most pertinent piece of information. “They’re waiting on reinforcements, but they won’t arrive for days. We’ll be long gone by then. And that’s definitely a good thing, because apparently it’s _General Amaya_ who’s on the way.” She shook her head in disbelief. Imagine that: the Standing Battalion herself, redirected to wait around for a couple of princes.

Unexpectedly, Callum and Ezran instantly looked at each other, expressions turning weird. Baffled, maybe. Or uneasy.

Ezran spoke first, confusedly. “Do you think it’s a different Amaya?”

“I don’t think there’s another General Amaya, Ez.”

“But still-“

“Yeah, I know.” Callum turned back to her, looking strangely pensive. “You’re sure they said General Amaya?”

She eyed them suspiciously. “Believe me, it’s not a name I’m about to get wrong.” She said, dryly, and crossed her arms at the next loaded glance exchanged by the boys. “Alright, what is it?”

“Er. Well, nothing much.” Callum attempted. She levelled him with a very unimpressed stare. He deflated. “Well – she’s, kind of our aunt? Yeah.”

Rayla stared.

“I’m kind of sorry we’ll miss her.” Ezran said, obliviously, smiling a little as if recalling something pleasant. “It’s been so long since she last got to visit.”

“Well, she’s a busy woman. It’s probably a good thing we’ll be gone by the time she gets here, though. Aunt Amaya…well, she really doesn’t like elves. You know that.” He looked across at her, and whatever he saw on her face made him quickly look away again, nervously clearing his throat. “I don’t think it would go well if she met Rayla.”

“Maybe.” Ezran sounded very doubtful. “I bet she’d listen if we tried though.”

Callum made a doubtful noise, and seemed about to say something else when Rayla found her voice again. “ _Aunt_ Amaya _.”_ She repeated, incredulously, and looked over the two boys with disbelief. “ _General Amaya._ She’s your _aunt?_ ”

“….yes?” Callum offered tentatively. “I didn’t know you’d have heard of her.”

Rayla stared, still half lost for words, and reached up to rub at the centre of her forehead, feeling a headache threatening her at the mere thought. “Your _aunt_ is probably the best human warrior alive.” She said, finally. “You could say I’ve _heard of her._ We definitely got lucky that she’s not here. Ransacking your lodge for supplies under her watch…I’m good, but I don’t think I’m _that_ good.” She shook her head, still not entirely able to process the idea of these dumb humans being related to _General Amaya._

And…that meant their mother had to be General Amaya’s late sister. Queen Sarai. The woman who had nearly single-handedly turned the Katolis military from an average substandard human force into a genuinely worrying threat, and in so few years too.

Queen Sarai and General Amaya were renowned enough that even _she’d_ heard of them, and…these boys were their family? They were princes, sure, she’d known that, but…it was bewildering, even so.

The humans shared another glance and shrugged. “When’s the supply heist going to happen, then? Since you think it’s alright.” The elder prince inquired, leaning forwards with interest.

Rayla frowned, and looked up at the sky. “Well, I _would_ say it would be better to do in a few hours, when they’ll be sleepy and complacent, but…” She tapped her fingers on her knee, crouching down to rest closer to eye level with the others. “I kinda want to steal one of their tents. And that’ll be very hard to do once they’re all set-up and being slept in.”

“Steal a tent?” Ezran parroted, surprised, and then visibly actually put some thought to it. “That’s a _great_ idea, Rayla.”

“You said there wouldn’t be any tents in the lodge, but…the soldiers all have them.” She shrugged. “And theirs don’t look half bad, either.”

“And there’s a lodge _right there,_ so it’s not like we’ll be condemning some poor schmuck to sleeping out in the open.” Callum nodded along, clearly picking up on her enthusiasm.

“Personally I care more about condemning _us_ to sleeping out in the open for the whole journey, but that’s also true.” Rayla commented dryly. “Anyway, they already had two set up when I left, so if I want to grab a tent pack I’d best get a move on. Can’t afford to sit around. But – I don’t know what they’ll do when they notice the pack missing. We might have to run. So I want you to be ready to move. No drawing, or settling in.”

Callum glanced forlornly at his sketchbook, but slung its strap over his shoulder agreeably enough. “Yeah, that makes sense. Do you know how long you’ll be?”

“Nope. No clue. Probably not more than an hour or so if all goes well.” She stood, and cracked her neck, stretching out her limbs with a series of satisfying pops. “Right then. Hand over the bag, mister.” She held out her hand, expectantly. He blinked, but got her meaning after a second, obediently passing over his barely-filled backpack. She slung it over her shoulder and exhaled sharply. “Keep an ear out. Don’t get caught.”

“Right back at you.” He smiled lopsidedly. “Have fun.”

She mock-saluted him, and then returned gladly to the trees.

Night was well and truly falling now, and the dark settled over her with a comforting familiarity. Her eyes adjusted easily to the low light, the colours of the forest going grey and pale in the absence of sunlight to colour them. Something in her eased, settled, and then another part of her woke up. Rayla leapt through the forest, and felt herself coming alive and alert, senses sharp and perfectly-attuned to the twilit forest.

Moonshadow elves could adapt to a diurnal routine well enough, and frequently did – but it was night that they were made for. And this – sneaking through the night-shadows, lit by nothing more than stars and moon? She was _born_ for this.

Easy, invigorating anticipation stretched under her skin as she approached the lodge, quick and silent in the treetops. The first thing she looked at when she arrived was the fledgling camp. Three tents were up now, the soldiers getting to work on the fourth. She wasn’t quite sure how many packs were left at the wall of the lodge, but there couldn’t be more than six remaining. She stared, narrow-eyed, and considered what to do.

They were setting up the tents by the light of a single torch, lodged at the top of a nearby post. The actual packs were in shadow. She thought she had a very high chance of grabbing one without being seen, but what about when they noticed it missing? If they searched the lodge while she was still packing supplies, she’d be in trouble. But if she waited until there were fewer packs left, she might miss her chance to get one. And she did _not_ fancy the idea of sleeping in the open for weeks on end.

Finally, she exhaled quietly, and dropped down from the trees into the deepest shadows. She marked the positions of twelve visible humans, two of whom were standing watch by the doors of the lodge, three tending to the horses, the commander tending the crow, two seeming to be arranging the camp food supplies, two pitching tents, and the last two standing guard beside-

Her eyes narrowed. Was that a boat?

It _was._ Ugh. She stared at it, with an uncomfortable prickling feeling, and resolved to ignore the thing entirely. It probably wouldn’t be relevant. It _hopefully_ wouldn’t be relevant.

Quietly, Rayla slipped around the edge of the clearing, across to the back wall of the lodge, and stealthily picked her way towards the tent packs, casting wary glances to the tent-pitchers who were amiably coordinating their work by torchlight, just ten metres away. She ran quick eyes over the packs – only five left. After a moment of quick decision, she extracted one at the edge and rearranged the others to make it look less like there was one actually missing, and then turned tail and made a beeline back to the trees. She climbed a likely specimen a few metres out from the clearing, and stowed the tent pack in it, and then extracted her floor plan to have a last look over it.

She looked from the paper to the lodge, squinting, and noted with disbelief that the windows were all wide open. What in the world was that in aid of? Were they trying to air out the building? Was it dusty in there? Either way, she definitely wasn’t complaining. Once again, she spared a moment to thank magic itself for not making her have to contend with General Amaya.

Without further ado, Rayla dropped down from the tree and slunk quickly over to the walls, lodging her boots into the masonry and hauling herself up the walls, and slipped easily through a large window on the first floor. She didn’t even need to use her picks.

She ducked down to the floor quickly, and looked around, getting her bearings. She’d landed in what looked like the kitchen Callum had sketched, which meant the main hall should be through _that_ door, the stairs to the cellar through _that_ one…

…and, yeah, Callum’s drawings were actually stunningly accurate. That human had _skill._

She shook away the thought, and listened carefully for signs of any of the last two or four humans within the lodge, but all of the sound seemed to be coming from outside. The building was dark, and very, very still.

All the better.

Rayla headed for the main hall, steps silent, and upon confirming it empty, made a beeline for the cloakroom. It was strange, to have everything look like the drawings she’d seen, to know where she was meant to be looking. She pulled the largest backpack she could find off of a hook, and then looked over the winterwear, finding a row of heavy fur cloaks, luxurious enough to be thick fur on both sides, and to have collars bristling with even longer fur. Only one of them looked potentially Ezran-sized, so she stuffed that into the bag, and then studied the rest of them a little more closely. That one looked a bit shorter, maybe? She unhooked it and held it up in front of her to judge it, and concluded it to be approximately the right size to be Callum’s. She hesitated to pull another one off the hooks, but, well, Ezran had given it his blessing. So she took a third, which might also have been Callum’s, and stuffed them all into Callum’s bag, with some difficulty.

Heavy winter cloaks were, as a rule, very bulky, and these ones were extravagantly thick. She doubted she’d be able to get any more into his bag, but maybe she’d manage some smaller bits of clothing. She scanned the cloakroom and found the little set of drawers she was looking for, pulling each of them open to find hats, scarves, and gloves. She pulled a pair of the latter out with some amusement, holding them up to her hands to look at the extra finger on the fabric. _These could work for hand-disguises,_ she thought, and suppressed a snigger at the weirdness of the extra fingers.

She grabbed a few of each and shoved them in next to the cloaks, and then moved on.

Her progress through the lodge was slow and careful, stopping in the shadows of furniture and doors to listen to the sounds outside. There was still no noise within the lodge. She headed for the cellar next, since it would be the hardest to escape from if she was cornered there, and she wanted it out of the way. She rooted through every container she could find, throwing things haphazardly into whichever bag would fit it. A roll of bandages, plus a couple other useful wound-care things. Scissors. Two large empty jars. A pair of large waterskins. Two long coils of rope. Some spark-rocks. She left the cellar as soon as she could, and then rooted through the kitchen.

She located some long brown things where Callum had helpful annotated the possibility of food. They were rock solid and heavy enough to use as blunt force weapons. Dubiously, she inspected one, having a sniff, and…it maybe smelled edible, but she wasn’t at all certain. In the end, she elected to take the jar of mush that smelled like fruit instead, figuring it was probably some kind of jam. She located a bar of soap near the washing basin and took that too, adding in a wash-rag for good measure, and found a small iron cooking pot in one of the cupboards. Heavy, but probably worth it.

The kitchen thus raided, she headed upstairs, and straight for where the princes’ room ought to be. She opened the door to it, and noted the familiar-looking space with two beds, several chests, and a large wardrobe at the end. Callum’s drawings continued to serve well.

She located Ezran’s clothing and pulled out a thick wool jumper from there, and then found Callum’s and did the same.

Then she hesitated.

Dubiously, she extracted a pair of trousers, holding them to her hips to gauge the length. Short. Not horribly short, but…definitely short. She frowned indecisively, slinging the clothing over one arm as she inspected the shirts, and then the thin jackets. They all looked nearly identical to what Callum was already wearing, the only variance being in colour, sleeve length, and in some cases the embroidered patterns on the front. She sighed, resigning herself to the fact that a journey back to Xadia on one set of clothes would be too disgusting to contemplate, and liberally raided Callum’s vestments to pick out a few bits for her own use. She gave the rest of the room a quick once-over, and extracted a hairbrush from someone’s drawer, a plain towel, and a couple sticks of charcoal that were almost certainly Callum’s.

That only left the supposedly-magic cube.

Now feeling rather weighed down by the two increasingly-full bags, Rayla made the final trip to the game room, locating her quarry in a box of keys. It was, indeed, a weird cube with the symbols of the primals laid out on each side. The moon symbol glowed as she touched it, so maybe there was something to the idea of it being magical. Without incident, she shoved it into the bag and traced her path back through the lodge to the window she’d come in from.

She paused to listen at the window before leaving it. There was the sound of raised voices outside. Arguing. Someone named Marcos was being accused of losing a tent.

They’d noticed its absence, then. Best move quickly.

She peeked out of the window, confirmed a clear path to the treeline, and hauled herself and her cargo out, landing a bit more heavily than she’d have preferred. She made it back to the trees with an almost laughable lack of trouble, retrieved the tent pack, and made her way back eastward after a heist that went off without a hitch.

Mind, the two bags plus the tent pack made her significantly less graceful than she’d have liked, and the exertion had her breathing heavily and making an uncomfortable amount of noise as she finally drew close to where she’d left the boys. Enough noise that they actually heard her coming, startling and looking up warily at the trees above them. Rayla dropped heavily down in front of them, and this time they weren’t surprised. Relieved, though; it was gratifying to see that on their faces. The glow toad croaked reproachfully at the sight of her, evidently not as pleased to see her as the humans.

“Rayla! You’re back.” Ezran sounded audibly relieved too, bless him. He really did seem like a good kid.

With a groan of relief, she set the backs down. “I’m back.” She confirmed, shaking out her shoulders.

Callum stepped forwards to inspect her haul, hands hovering over each bag in turn. “Looks like it went well?” he asked cautiously, hand coming to rest on the tent pack. It was a heavy, bulky thing – shaped like a long roll with a single strap to sling it over a shoulder. It had bounced about like nobody’s business when she’d had to jump through the trees with the thing. “Hey, you got the tent?” he sounded impressed.

“Oh, thank goodness.” Ezran sighed, seeing the potential future of many days sleeping rough vanish before his eyes.

She grinned, proud and immensely satisfied. “Mission accomplished.” She declared, and sat down. “No one saw me, and when I left they were blaming each other for losing the tent, but I don’t know if they’ll notice anything off if they go back into the lodge. I think we should move out a bit before we rest for the night, just in case.”

They exchanged dismayed looks. “…Do we have to?” Ezran asked plaintively after a moment. “I was nearly falling asleep while you were gone. Could we at least have a nap?”

Rayla hesitated, and looked back over her shoulder. They were about five minutes of casual walking away from the lodge, which…wasn’t really far. It didn’t feel very safe. But… “I don’t think it’s safe,” She said after a moment, and their faces fell. “But if you want to sleep now, I’ll keep watch, so I can wake you up if there’s any issue.”

Callum blinked at her. “What about you, Rayla? Won’t you be tired?”

She _was_ tired. Naturally nocturnal or not, she’d still been up and walking all day. But… “It’s only a day past the full moon.” She looked up at the sky, where the trees obscured the waning shape of it. But she could feel it. Even past the power the true full moon brought, it was invigorating. “I’ll last. And I’ll wake one of you at dawn and get a couple hours then.”

Callum inspected her, face serious, and nodded. “Thanks, Rayla.” He said, sincere, and Ezran echoed it quickly. “Wake me up when you want to get some sleep, okay? Even if it’s in the middle of the night.”

“…Sure.” She agreed, with absolutely no intention of actually waking him up earlier than necessary. She was not at all certain of his abilities as a watchman, and these were far from the best circumstances to test him in.

Ezran yawned widely, rubbed his eyes, and shuffled over to find a comfortable patch of moss to sleep on. “Mmkay. Thanks again, Rayla. ‘Night.” Callum hesitated a bit, looking at her awkwardly, before he turned over to do the same.

She sat still and quiet for several minutes, listening as they shuffled and shifted and then, when they’d grown comfortable, eased audibly into sleep, breath evening out. She wondered if they were heavy enough sleepers for her to get some organising done in the night, or if she’d just have to sit quietly for hours.

Well, if she did, it wouldn’t be all that new, though the length of the watch would be. She was used to a watch rotation shared among six people, which was much more lenient. If this little group tried to set up a rotation…well, it’d only be her and Callum trading off, wouldn’t it? Ezran was a kid. He couldn’t be any older than ten, and you didn’t put ten-year-olds on watch duty. Even she wouldn’t have been a good watchelf at the age of ten.

Her wrist twinged unpleasantly, not for the first time that day, but…for the first time, Rayla didn’t ignore it. Casting a furtive glance at the princes to make sure they were asleep, she brought up her left wrist to stare at the binding. It looked so deceptively unassuming now. It felt a little uncomfortable, maybe, like she ought to loosen it, but certainly not like irrevocable limb loss embodied in a tiny silver band.

She’d never seen an assassin’s bind stay on for more than a day before. She knew, in theory, what was going to happen, but…how long would it take? How much would it hurt? Would her hand just fall off on its own…or would it be more of an agonising process of the band tightening until it squeezed through her skin and flesh and bone? Her fingers clenched reflexively at the mere thought, and she shivered. If it came to that, she’d much rather cut it off herself. At least then maybe she wouldn’t die from infection before the hand even came off.

Quietly, she pulled out one of her blades, and lodged the tip under the binding. She tugged, and pulled, but the blade that could happily pierce rock did absolutely nothing to the piece of flimsy-looking ribbon. It didn’t even so much as displace a thread. She hadn’t expected any different, really, but…

She sighed, frustrated, and put the blade away.

 

\---

 

Miles away, the kingdom was changing. That day had dawned on the end of a beloved monarch’s reign, his funeral procession rang out by the castle bells, tolling lowly all the way to the Valley of Graves. There, Lord Viren declared that the Princes of Katolis were both dead, and the kingdom grieved for the death of the entire royal family as the King’s body burned.

The sun set, and by the light of the Sisters’ fires, Opeli reluctantly placed the Crown of Towers upon a new head.

On that day, the Thirteenth of the month, the High Mage was crowned Lord Protector of the realm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Timeline:** I’ve decided a date for the start of canon just so I can make a proper timeline to follow. In this story, the first day of canon (night-time, when Rayla fails to kill Marcos) was 11th of May. The day of the full moon was 12.05, day 2 since start of canon. This chapter takes place on 13.05, or day 3 since start of canon. Numbering the days like this helps me keep track of when events should take place, as my notes on TDP episodes are numbered according to the day count. My timeline is meticulously planned up to day 14 so far, and I have plans that will take the story far beyond that.
> 
>  **Important canon divergences this chapter:** Amaya is still many days away from the castle, and had no chance of stopping Viren’s coronation. Viren is now, somewhat legitimately, the Lord Protector of Katolis, and will have full authority to use the king’s seal and command the forces of Katolis. You can bet Opeli isn’t happy about it though, and most of the local citizens won’t be, either.
> 
>  **On the story concept:** The drastically increased size of the continent changes basically everything. Armies take much longer to move, and the logistics of supplying them are much more difficult. Amaya is not able to basically teleport from the Breach to the Banther Lodge in half a day. Anything that’s time-sensitive, or involves a message or a person having to go somewhere, may turn out drastically differently. Some major events in canon may still happen, others might not, and others may occur in very, very different ways.
> 
> The kids themselves will take dramatically different routes to canon, encounter different problems, make different plans, and in general spend a whole lot more time travelling and managing their travel. There’ll be lots of delicious travel scenes, and campfire scenes, and interaction, and cute character moments. Also tent-sharing. There will be a whole lot of that.
> 
> Please note that the Rayllum is going to be very slow burn. I mean that. The very first hints of it aren’t until about 30k in – this fanfiction could probably double as a slow cooker. But there will be plenty of fluff along the way. 
> 
> **Final note:** While the first 40k of this story is pretty light and fluffy, it will get more serious after this, and contain difficult scenes, concepts, themes, and will have events with lasting consequences for the characters. I will warn readers at the start of any chapters that may contain potentially difficult concepts, events, or scenes.
> 
> Currently written chapters: 1 (This one, ~9k), 2 (about 9k), 3 (also about 9k), 4 (11k), and 5 (10k). It’s mostly cute travel fluff until chapter 5, where things start getting more serious.
> 
> I’ll update every few days ish. Want to give myself time to write more. Please please show your appreciation in some fashion if you enjoyed this or are intrigued to see more – I get super anxious whenever posting a new story, and feedback and story stats keep me motivated to continue writing.
> 
> My thanks to Jelly for reading and providing feedback while I was writing chapters 1-5, and in general for nagging me to keep writing when my motivation was flagging. You've been an excellent writing buddy.


	2. Approaching the Belt ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rayla beats up a camp of soldiers and reluctantly steals their boat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content warnings:** chapter contains depictions of violence and harm against several random OCs. Also, mild emetophobia warning.
> 
> Happy season 3 confirmation day, everyone!
> 
> Edited: 25/11/19, season 3 information and minor stylistic changes. S3 information added concerns Callum’s clothing; wouldn’t exactly call it spoilers.

In the end, it turned out that both humans were pretty heavy sleepers.

About an hour into her watch, becoming simultaneously too tired and too bored to remain alert, Rayla pulled everything out of the bags and started organising it. She rolled each of the heavy fur cloaks up and tied them with some of the rope, as if they were bedrolls, and affixed each one to the bottom of the three backpacks of the group. She hesitated to go near Ezran’s, since it had the egg in it and she was fairly sure they didn’t want her going near it…but it wasn’t as though she were actually opening the thing, so in the end she tied that one on too. The toad opened his eyes to glare suspiciously at her while she was near him, and on one occasion croaked warningly, but left her alone.

By the time the first hints of day started lightening the sky, Rayla was feeling weary to the bone, but had sorted out all the supplies of the party, minus whatever Ezran might have in his bag with the egg. She laid his bits of clothing next to the bag so he could pack them himself, but got Callum’s bag all packed, filling it with his clothes, book, the sticks of charcoal, one jar, the bar of soap, the hairbrush, and one coil of rope. She was in the process of packing everything else into her own bag when the dawn chorus started, birds warbling out their songs, and she looked up at the sky.

The sight of the incrementally brighter sky instantly blanketed her with instinctive exhaustion. Even under the best of circumstances, daylight was usually a cue that made a Moonshadow elf feel drowsier, and these were far from the best of circumstances. She’d been awake for pretty much an entire, _very active,_ day. Exhaustion pressed horribly at her, even the mild hint of daylight intensifying the sleepless headache behind her eyes.

She had planned to wait an hour or so more before waking Callum. But…this was probably fine. She really needed the rest. Even just a couple of hours. Slowly, she packed away the last straggling supplies into her own bag, and conceded to her tiredness.

She shuffled over to where the princes were sleeping, leaning over to gently shake Callum by the shoulder. It took a few tries to get him to stir, and that only after she started shaking him considerably more vigorously.

“Mmmwha-“ He mumbled, incoherently, and nearly rolled over right onto her. She rolled her eyes, shuffling out of the way, and shook him again. His eyes opened a little, bleary and unfocused, and blinked a couple of times. She watched the look on his face progress from vague confusion to something closer to sleepy recognition. “…Rayla.” He assessed, and raised a hand to rub at his eyes. “Mm…everything okay?”

She nodded up at the sky. “Dawn’s coming.”

He woke up a little more, eyes flickering between her and the sky, and then pushed himself upright. “Oh, right.” He mumbled. “My turn to watch, yeah. Okay.” He yawned. “Give me a few minutes?”

Rayla made a vaguely assenting noise, pushing all the bags aside to find a decent patch of ground to sleep on. Her hand twinged at her, the bind growing genuinely uncomfortable now, but frankly her headache was the greater evil at this point. She rubbed at her temples, the tiredness turning her quiet and sluggish and entirely disinclined to communicate with Callum while he got his bearings. She was vaguely aware of him brushing his fingers through his hair to remove a few leaves, and considered telling him that she’d obtained a hairbrush. In the end, she didn’t have the energy even for that, and just stayed silent.

“Okay, I think I’m good.” He announced after a minute, yawning again. “When should I wake you up?”

She looked up at the sky again, squinting. “…’Bout an hour after the dawn colours go away.” She said, distantly aware of her accent intensifying and slurring her words as she grew closer and closer to being allowed to pass out. “Or, if, y’know, humans come along.” She took his noise of agreement as cue to stop fighting for consciousness, and pretty much collapsed onto her chosen patch of grass.

She fell asleep within seconds.

 

\---

 

As much as Rayla had raised her eyebrows at the princes’ heavy sleeping, she apparently wasn’t a great deal better that morning, because when Callum got around to waking her up, she opened her eyes to a scene of considerable mess; a mess whose making she hadn’t heard at all. She blinked, head pounding and eyes full of grit, and groaned lowly at the brightness of the daylight.

“…Should I let you sleep a bit longer?” Callum asked, hesitant, his hand drawing back from her shoulder and fidgeting nervously with the end of his scarf.

Stars above, Rayla wanted to say yes. Wanted to close her eyes and not wake up until a sensible time of day, like dusk, or midnight. But they were in enemy territory, and their position wasn’t exactly secure, and they had a long way to go today.

“…No.” She croaked, voice creaky, and cleared her throat. She sat up, accidentally shoulder-checking Callum out of the way in the process, and found the fingers of her left hand feeling vaguely tight and stiff as she flexed them. “Got t’wake up, ‘n do things. _Ugh_.” She dragged herself to her feet, and stared at the mess she’d half-noticed in her first seconds of wakening. “…Why’d’you unpack everything?”

“Morning, Rayla.” Ez greeted, sounding entirely too bright and awake for her peace of mind. “We wanted to see what you’d got from the lodge, but didn’t want to wake you up.” He held up one of the two large jars she’d packed. “What are these for?”

She swayed forwards and snatched it from him. “Food.” She said, shortly. “Storing berries or whatever. Where’s the other one?”

Callum passed it over to her, looking vaguely intimidated by whatever her facial expression was doing, and she grunted in acknowledgement.

“’m goin’ to find breakfast.” She said, and with the two jars under her arm scaled the nearby tree with considerably less elegance and grace than usual.

She trampled through the forest canopy, taking a brief glimpse above to look at the human camp, but nothing much seemed to have changed there, so she swung through the forest in search of edible spots of colour. She found an apple tree, but the fruit were all small and only one looked potentially ripe. She found a berry bush, but it was a poisonous one. Finally she found a young milkfruit shrub, with a family of deer grazing nearby. She approached slowly, to not alarm them, and set the jars down to fill them with fruit.

The deer were wary at first, but her extreme disinterest with them prompted them to return to what they were doing soon enough. Normally she might have watched them, appreciative of the cuteness of the fawn, but she was not anywhere near awake enough to appreciate wildlife right now. Rayla sat for a few minutes to eat some fruit beside the deer, a little of her grogginess fading. She wiped grit from the edges of her eyes and wished that the sun weren’t so stupidly bright.

After a few minutes, she pulled out one of her last bottles of moonberry juice, and had a gulp of it to take the edge off her thirst. It would hopefully help her wake up a bit, but she wasn’t feeling optimistic about that. She exhaled, and rubbed her eyes again. Finally, she got herself up and headed back to bring breakfast to the other two.

There was still mess everywhere when she arrived, and she sighed, dropping a jar in front of each of them. “Here. Breakfast.” She informed them, and went to see what they’d done with her chosen bag.

“Oh, thanks! I’m _starving._ ” Ezran said, pulling the lid off and immediately passing a fruit to his toad, who had been eyeing the jar hungrily the second it appeared.

“Thanks, Rayla.” Callum echoed appreciatively, popping open his own jar. He watched her curiously as she picked up her bag and started shoving the nearby items into it. “Is that the bag you’ll be using, then?”

“Yep.” She said, words still clipped and short. She was not the greatest of conversationalists when this thoroughly sleep-deprived.

“Oh, um, cool?” He offered, still trying to communicate with her, not yet privy to the knowledge that Rayla was emphatically _not_ a morning person unless she’d had, at the very least, five or six hours of sleep before said morning. “Are you…okay?” He asked cautiously, and well, at least he’d picked up on _something._

She forced a smile, though it felt more like a grimace. “Just tired. It happens.” She said, picking up the articles of clothing she’d filched from Callum’s drawers to set about folding them.

He shifted, eyes fixed curiously on them, and for the first time Rayla realised she hadn’t actually asked him permission to use his things, even if Ezran had assured her it would be fine.

She paused. “…Hope you don’t mind me borrowing these?” She asked, awkwardly, flapping one of his shirts. The sleeveless one, as it happened. She’d taken a long-sleeved one as well. “Otherwise I’ve only got what I’m wearing.”

Callum instantly waved his hands emphatically towards the clothes. “No, no, it’s fine, go ahead.” He assured her, and perhaps in some attempt not to look awkward, took a bite of milkfruit emphatically enough that he just ended up looking more awkward. Rayla huffed lightly under her breath, amused, and kept packing her (his?) things away. “Um, thanks for getting the cube, by the way.” He said, after finishing the rest of that particular milkfruit. “Did you know it glows the right symbols when you put it near something magic?”

“The moon rune lit up when I found it, so yes, I assumed.” She said, and after a second, found it in her to attempt making actual conversation. “Did you get any of the other runes to light up?”

His face brightened a little, like a puppy she’d deigned to show some attention, and he nodded. “The sky rune lights up near the primal stone and the egg.” He informed her.

“And the sun rune lights up next to Bait.” Ezran added, and she looked over to find that between them, he and the toad – Bait? – had eliminated most of the jar. Maybe they should fill up again once they started moving. Her eyes wandered the clearing, looking for the waterskins, and found them looking fuller than expected, resting next to the tent pack.

Callum followed her gaze. “Oh, yeah, we went over to the river to fill those up. It’ll make things easier, having a waterskin or two. Honestly, I’d have had no idea what sort of thing to pack.”

“…Makes sense. You’ve never gone on huge cross-country hiking trips before. Or have you?” she shrugged, faux-nonchalant, and ignored the way her skin crawled at the idea they’d gone near the river without her.

“No, not really.” He admitted, adjusting his scarf. “I mean, we come here every winter, and we go to the Bay in summers, but we’ve always had guards and porters and cooks with us, so it’s not exactly the same.”

She raised her eyebrows, and smirked a little. “No, I’d say not.” She said, packing the last of her things into her bag. “When you travel for a long time, you need to think of things you need ahead of time. And leave lots of time every day for…camp things.” She propped the bag up on its bottom, starting to feel more alert as she considered how to concisely describe the basics of cross-country travel. “Setting up tents, eating, that sort of thing. Every week or so you have a laundry day.”

Ezran made a thoughtful noise around a mouthful of fruit, and Callum looked pensive. “I guess we’ll lose a lot of time to….just that sort of general maintenance thing. Setting up the tent, taking the tent down…”

“Yep. It eats a lot of time.” She nodded, and after a second, shuffled forwards to grab a fruit from Callum’s jar. “Another thing. When you’re in a group, everyone carries some group stuff. Sharing the weight, and all that.” She nodded to the tent pack. “I thought I’d take the tent most of the time, since you two aren’t used to walking all day yet.” She took a bite of the fruit.

Callum blinked at her. “Oh. Huh. Thanks? I mean, I’m happy to carry it too? It’s only fair.”

“I appreciate the sentiment,” Her lips quirked into a wry smile as she shook her head. “But trust me. You’re going to need a while to get used to the walking first.”

“My legs hurt already.” Ezran admitted, kicking the legs in question in front of him.

“That’ll get worse for a few days, stay mostly the same for a few more, and then eventually start getting better.” Rayla informed him wisely, from the lofty position of someone with personal experience.

“Great.” The boy sighed. “Well, at least it gets better eventually.”

“Eventually.” She emphasised. “And if we go up any of those mountains, I’m not making any promises about how your legs will feel _then._ ”

“At least we have the tent?” He tried instead, optimistically. “It was pretty cold the last two nights, sleeping outside like this.”

“I am definitely glad we have the tent.” Rayla agreed, and stood. She gave the rest of the mess a long look. “…You can pack all of that up. I did it once, I’m not doing it again.”

Callum shrugged and put his jar of fruit aside to pack. “Sounds fair.” He said, gathering his things together. “What’s the plan for today?”

“Walk east.” She answered succinctly.

He made a face. “Is that it?”

“Walk east. Stay away from roads. Avoid humans.” She elaborated, rolling her eyes. “…Since your _Aunt Amaya_ is meant to be arriving with who-knows how many of her battalion, we want to stay _well_ away from the roads.”

He considered that, shoving his clothes into the bag, and then the group-things she’d allocated to him. “…Yeah, sounds reasonable.” He agreed. “We could walk along the river, maybe? It’s heading east, and that way we’ll have plenty of water.”

Rayla went briefly still, grimacing, and looked over in the direction of the nearby river. “…Best not. Someone might go by in a boat, and that’s the last thing we’d need.”

“Good point.” Callum followed her gaze to stare out towards the river as well. “It sucks that _we_ can’t just go by in a boat.”

She made a rude, dismissive noise before she could quite contain it. “What? Nah, what would we need a boat for?” She looked away quickly, aware her voice had taken a distinct up-scale in pitch but, in her defence, she _really_ didn’t want boating to enter their plans.

He looked at her strangely. So did Ezran. “Getting to Xadia faster?” he suggested, raising his eyebrows. “That river goes a long way. If we had a boat we’d probably save _days_ of walking. I almost want to say we should walk along the river just in case we find one, but then we’d have to steal it, and that’s…not ideal.”

Rayla stared at him, silently.

He tensed a bit, suddenly nervous. “What?”

She warred with herself for a few long seconds, scowled, and looked away. In the end…she couldn’t justify staying silent. Not because she was _afraid._ “There’s a boat moored at the lodge.” She admitted, unhappily, crossing her arms. “It’s under guard, but…I could probably get it.” She’d _known_ that stupid boat would be relevant somehow. It was just her sort of bad luck.

Callum and Ezran straightened, expressions brightening. “ _Really._ That’s great!”

“Yeah, _great_.” Rayla mimicked, sarcastically, scowling back towards the river.

Ezran shared a look with his brother. “…Is something wrong?” The younger prince asked, frowning.

“Of _course not._ ” She huffed, pulling her bag up. “I just _love_ the idea of stealing a boat from a bunch of heavily armed humans in broad daylight! Humans with horses, who can chase us! Nothing could make me happier.”

Callum’s brows furrowed at her, and he stood, hefting his bag onto one shoulder, and then his sketchbook strap. “…Do you think the horses could catch up to us, on the river?”

“I’m not exactly an expert on horse speed.” She said after a moment, shoulders dropping a little. Finally, unhappily: “…Let’s go look at the river.”

They picked up their things and did, indeed, go to stare at the river.

“It looks…fast-ish?” Callum said dubiously, looking at it.

Ezran tossed a leaf in and watched it flow away. “I think the horses would get tired faster than the boat would, anyway, even if they did catch up to the boat.”

“Hmmm.” Rayla expressed, still incredibly displeased about the idea of travelling by water at all. Her skin crawled when she thought about it too hard, so…she tried not to think about it. “I think we should walk along the river a while, pick a good spot, and then I go to grab the boat alone.”

“And what, then you meet us downriver?” Callum nodded, picking up on the plan. “Sounds good.” He looked down-river and adjusted the straps on his shoulders. “…I guess it’s time to start walking, then.”

Ezran sighed sadly, and hefted the egg-bearing bag on his back. Rayla pulled the strap of the tent pack over her shoulder and set off determinedly along the river bank.

 

\---

 

Around twenty minutes’ walk down the river, they made the fortuitous discovery of an overgrown ditch full of thorns along the riverbank. While this was annoying to walk around, it would certainly help to provide an impediment for pursuing horsemen. They debated stopping right there, but after a while walked a little further, finding a vaguely rocky area where the water was a bit shallower than usual.

“This river is called the Lune, you know.” Callum remarked, setting his bag down next to where Rayla had put her own things. “Can’t remember if I mentioned that.”

She scowled at it. “Of _course_ it’s called the Lune.” She muttered, scathingly, and stretched to get the cricks out of her neck.

“What’s wrong with the name?” Ezran asked, perplexed. “I think it sounds nice.”

She checked her blades, flipping them out and then back again. “….It comes from the draconic word for ‘moon’.” She explained after a moment. “Seems a bit ironic, considering.”

Callum laughed, a short surprised _ha._ “I didn’t know that. I guess it makes sense, though – ‘lunar’ must come from the same word, right?”

“Yep.” She said, looking between their things and the river. “…Make sure you’re ready to go any second. There’ll probably be people chasing me, and ideally, I don’t want them to see you.”

“Er. Why?” Callum blinked at her as cluelessly as his brother.

“Because they’ll think I’ve kidnapped you if they see you with me, and I don’t need the kingdom after me any more than it already is.” She said dryly, and looked up at the trees. “…It’ll take me a while to get there, but if I’m gone more than a couple of hours…you’d best keep walking without me.” They both shot her alarmed looks, and she folded her arms, defensive. “Look, I’m going to try my very best _not_ to get shot full of arrows, but I can’t make any promises, alright?”

Ezran, wide-eyed, scampered forwards to hug her around the middle. She stilled, surprised, but after a second of hovering hesitantly put her hands on his shoulders. “Please don’t get shot full of arrows, Rayla.” He said, worriedly, looking up at her. “You’re really nice. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“…I don’t want me to get hurt either, and you lot need someone to look out for you, so I’ll do my best.” She said after a moment, smiling reluctantly as her developing fondness for the little prince prodded its way onto her face. He really was a good kid. “Stay put, and stay ready. I’ll be back in no time.” She gently detached his arms from her, and patted him awkwardly on the shoulder.

Callum was watching somewhat inscrutably, but he did look concerned as she turned to glance at him. “…Be careful.” He said, fiddling with the strap of his sketchbook. “I don’t want you to get hurt either. If it’s too risky, just…come back without the boat.”

“I’ll see if I can beat them up and break their bows first, or something.” She shrugged, shot both of them a smile, and turned back westward. “I’ll be back.”

She gave them a final glance, and ran off into the forest.

 

\---

 

As much as she’d originally intended it in jest, the more Rayla stared at the human troops from the vantage of her tree, the more she thought it _would_ be a good idea to beat them up and break their bows before she took the boat. She squinted at the armoured shapes milling about the lodge, trying to gauge the sturdiness of the bows, as well as their numbers. Eight humans seemed present, and six of them were armed with bows, which was a much higher number than she’d have liked. She could deflect a certain number of incoming arrows, but six in the air at a time was a lot to contend with.

She inspected the horses, too, noting that only four of the sixteen seemed fully prepared for riding. The rest had been made bare of their tack and armour, and were even now being brushed down by two of the eight visible humans. That was good. Fewer horses at the ready meant fewer riders in pursuit.

For good measure, she had a good long look at the tents in daylight, too, committing to memory what they were meant to look like when pitched. Surprisingly similar to the tents she was used to, at first glance.

Eventually, Rayla couldn’t put off the task any longer, and with a sigh slunk around the rooftops of the lodge, debating where to strike first. If she could take out a few humans first without the rest being aware, it would make things easier. She’d just need to wait for an opening.

Two were taking care of the horses, within full view of the river and the commander. They did not have bows. The commander was talking with two soldiers who looked recently returned from patrol, and all had bows. Three were posted by the bridge over the river, and they all had bows as well. None of them were especially well-positioned for stealth-takedowns, nor looked likely to be changing that any time soon. Except possibly the guards giving a report. Maybe they would move off elsewhere when they finished?

She watched for several minutes, but whatever the commander and the patrolpeople were talking about was evidently just…taking a while. Was it worth waiting? Were these humans likely to be skilled enough to be that cautious? If they’d been General Amaya’s people – well, if they’d been General Amaya’s, she’d have given up the boat heist from the start. But if these were as good as the average Crownguard she’d encountered at the castle, she’d probably be fine. Probably.

…Oh well. Nothing else for it.

She rolled her shoulders, flipped out her blades, and crept along the rooftop. If she managed an especially good jump, she could take the commander and the patrollers off-guard. It would be the archers at the bridge she’d have to be particularly wary of.

Rayla took a breath, exhaled, and then jumped off the roof.

The commander saw her coming and opened his mouth to shout; fortunately, the patrol guards in front of him didn’t have enough time to react. She landed behind them and kicked them solidly in the back of the knees to knock them down, one and then the other, and then slid easily past the first thrust the commander made with his sword as he drew it, tangling her own arm and blade around the inside of his until she had the perfect leverage against his elbow.

She _pulled_ ; the commander made an outraged noise of pain, and a slight twist of her arm saw him disarmed. Not wasting a second, she kicked his legs in as well, grabbed his bow from his back, and cracked it over her knee.

A whistling sound-

She snapped her head to the side and rolled away, three arrows whizzing past, as well as the patrolpeople who had by now picked themselves up to lunge at her, thoroughly over-committing themselves to the attack and barrelling straight into the space she’d just vacated. That was practically _asking_ for her to attack them from behind, so she gladly obliged.

Rayla tore the bow from the first woman’s back and broke it over her head with two hits, the first cracking the bow and producing a loud clanging on the helm, and the second knocking the helm off and breaking the bow. The woman didn’t seem out of commission from that, sadly, and whirled around with a yell of anger and a hand shooting to the blade at her side.

Rayla did not let her complete the motion; she stepped aside, locked her elbow around the woman’s wrist, and broke it in a quick clean snap, provoking a half-strangled shriek of pain. For good measure she used her position to step under and into the guard’s centre of gravity and flip her from her feet with quick, well-practiced ease. She landed in a clatter of metal right in front of the other guard, who _had_ managed to draw her sword, and very clearly intended to use it.

She smirked, and rolled to the side to clear some space and dodge the next volley of arrows from the bridge. Rayla finally deigned to use her own weapons, meeting the second patrolwoman’s sword with two of her own, then slipping easily through her guard to brutally slam the hilt of one weapon down on her opponent’s elbow; once, and her arm dropped with a shout, twice, and the sword fell from numb fingers. Rayla grabbed the stunned woman by the back of the cloak and pulled her down, snatching her bow away and absconding with it in the direction of the bridge-archers. She pulled the bow-string off as she ran and discarded the ruined weapon. Three down.

The horse-tending soldiers had by now got their act together, and the injured commander and patrolwomen were both staggering her way with admirable determination as well. Rayla dodged around the horse-tenders in her way in quick slide-spinning motions, and redirected the motion of one of them to send him stumbling into the other.

She ran straight at the remaining archers, all of whom were looking distinctly alarmed by now. They lowered their bows, and one managed to do it in a timely enough fashion to reach for his longsword, but it was distinctly not enough. She disarmed the faster man with laughable ease, flinging his sword into the river, and when the second man lunged at her all she had to do was step out of the way and push him a bit for him to fall on his face. The third archer, who’d been incoming with a mace, stopped short as her comrade fell at her feet.

Really, there was so much you could do when people practically _invited_ you to mess with their balance.

She divested the fallen man of his bow and hit the mace-wielding woman over the head with it, ducking to the side to avoid retribution from her and her fellow. The soldier grabbed it, shouting something with outrage that Rayla didn’t bother to parse. She grinned, plucked the bowstring off, and slipped around her to take her bow too. She threw it off the bridge, spun behind its owner, and kicked her knees out from behind. That only left the bow of the first archer of the three – and it only took a few more seconds of fast-paced ducking and weaving to divest him of his, too.

The variously-injured humans she’d left behind her were all charging towards the bridge, none of them sufficiently impeded as to be unconscious or unable to stagger angrily in her direction. She assessed them all in a quick second – the biggest threat was the commander, who had one arm out of commission but looked to be ambidextrous. The horse-tenders were also in very good shape, since all she’d done to them was knock them over.

One of the horse-tenders was closest; she ran out to meet him, dodging out of the way of his strike and using his arm as a springboard to jump up and whack him in the head with the base of her blade. He staggered backwards, stunned, and she backflipped off of him, converting her other blade to its hook-form with a flick of her wrist. When the other horse-tender reached her, she stepped to the side and let his own momentum hook him by the throat, protected from fatal injury by his armour but definitely taking an uncomfortable blow to the front of the neck. He made a choking, gurgling sound as she disengaged, flicking the hook back into a sword.

Then she spun away to meet the commander.

When he wasn’t taken totally off-guard, he was actually pretty decent. Definitely better than the others, and this even with his presumably non-dominant hand. He was holding the other one carefully at his side. She’d at least sprained it, possibly broken or dislocated it.

She met his blade with one of hers, and after exchanging a few easily-parried blows, she slipped under his arm and got all up in his space to use a combination of his outstretched arm and the side of his neck to send him careening off his feet, landing heavily on his back.

Rayla’s eyes flicked to the rest of her adversaries, assessing.

None completely out of commission, but…thoroughly dodgeable.

She flipped her blades back and ran for the boat.

The advantage of doing this in a combat situation was that she didn’t have a lot of time or opportunity to think too hard about what she was doing. She sprinted over the small stone mini-dock thing, slashed the rope connecting the boat to the post, and jumped into it.

Her stomach lurched horribly the second the boat rocked under her feet. She shuddered, caught off-guard for a second, and then managed to steady herself enough to kick the boat away from the side. The river took it quickly into its grasp, and Rayla watched the outraged humans at the banks to see what they would do.

“Follow her!” Shouted the commander, which was indication enough of his intentions. Rayla observed, trying very hard to focus on the humans’ actions rather than what she was standing on and how deep the river was, and waited.

The river was quick. Quicker than she’d expected. Quick enough she couldn’t help but be alarmed at its motion. In seconds the boat was passing under the bridge, in half a minute it was almost clear of the lodge. She could see the four ready horses being mounted. No one seemed to have spare bows, which was a mercy; her work had paid off. By the time she heard the horses whinnying and the hooves hitting the ground, the lodge was out of sight, and her escape was well under-way. She stayed standing in the boat, swords at the ready, eyes fixed on the banks up-river.

After around a minute she saw the horses in pursuit. They didn’t seem to be approaching all that fast. Perhaps they were running nearly at the speed of the boat, but she had enough of a head start that they were certainly falling behind. Hopefully the distance to the princes, as well as that convenient ditch, would ensure they wouldn’t be able to catch up.

Rayla sighed, and breathed, and tried not to think about the water rushing past so very close to her.

After a minute or two had passed, she managed to start thinking analytically about the situation. When she found the boys, she’d need to pull the boat over, somehow. She eyed the rope she’d cut, and wondered if she could grab it and anchor it to the riverbank herself. That seemed easier than trying to figure out how those paddle-things were meant to work in a fast river. She kept one eye on the bank behind her and one on the bank ahead, tense from the fighting and nauseous from the motion of the boat, but so far she was at least managing to control her fear response.

She waited a lot longer than she’d have preferred before she finally saw the ditch coming up on the side, and knew that Callum and Ezran had to be near. The horses had fallen far enough behind them that she could hear them in the distance, but not see them.

They could do this.

She saw the boys on the bank before they saw her, little specks in the distance. She raised her fingers and produced a loud, piercing whistle that echoed along the water; their heads raised instantly, and she saw them scrambling to their feet and for the bags.

Rayla took a deep, steadying breath, and then another one, and moved over to the side of the boat to grab the rope.

The river wasn’t too wide here, and they’d picked a shallower area for the meeting point. It should be fine. It _would_ be fine. She wouldn’t drown in water this deep even if she fell in, and she could _swim_ anyway, so it – it was fine. It would be _fine_. She ignored the way her pulse was thrumming unhappily in her throat, and breathed, and prepared to jump.

With several metres to spare, she leapt for the river bank, rope wrapped twice around her arm to brace it. She dug one of her blades into the bank and pulled the boat inwards, panting not entirely from the effort.

“Rayla!” The princes exclaimed, in chorus, rushing over to her.

“Into the boat, fast.” She ordered, voice tight, and jerked her chin towards the damnable thing. “We’re being chased.” She finished pulling the boat in, and stabbed the rope into the earth with her blade, a temporary tether. She grabbed the nearest bag, the tent pack, and tossed it in, watching like a hawk as the boys stumbled with their own bags over the edge of the boat. Then there was only her pack left to grab, and she swung it over her shoulder, pulling her blade from the ground and pushing the boat away from the bank and back into the water.

She hopped unhappily aboard in the next second, noting with some relief that Callum and Ezran were already operating the boat’s paddles and she didn’t have to worry about it.

“Phew!” Callum exclaimed, sounding exhilarated, dropping his bag and sketchbook into the bottom of the boat in a brief pause in his paddling. “I can’t believe you did it!”

“Of course I did it.” Rayla grumbled, settling as deeply into the hull as she could in hopes it would prevent her from having to look at the river. “Those humans were hardly _elite forces_.”

“Er. Good to know?” Callum tried, looking suddenly alarmed. She eyed him, and after a second he straightened and added “Er. You said they’re following us? Are they all…” He trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

“Should be four of ‘em on horses. They’re slower than the river, so if we keep going, we’ll be fine.”

“Horses can’t run all out for long before they get tired.” Ezran put in, matter-of-fact. “They’ll have to stop soon.”

She waved towards him with a nod. “Well, there you go.”

“…How many people were there? When you got the boat.” Callum asked, after a second, still looking uncomfortable and shifty. Rayla stared at him flatly.

“Eight.” She said, and watched him squirm for a couple of seconds before rolling her eyes. “I didn’t kill anyone, if that’s what you’re worryin’ about.” The way he flinched was answer enough. She looked away, vaguely irritated. “Broke a few arms, maybe, but don’t you worry. No dead humans on your _princely conscience_.”

Callum laughed nervously and very conspicuously turned to pretend to be occupied with the paddling. Ezran wasn’t bothered, and even rolled his own eyes at his brother. “Thanks for not hurting them too bad, Rayla.” He said guilelessly, as if he’d never expected her to do anything else. “I knew you wouldn’t, even if Callum was worried – but thanks anyway.”

She ignored Callum’s spluttering and glanced briefly at Ezran, interested. His faith in her character was nice and all, but a little confusing. _She_ knew that Moonshadow elves were meant to deal as little death as possible to achieve their missions, but if _they_ knew that, she’d be very surprised. Even other elf assassins didn’t always operate with the same creed. “…You’re welcome, Ezran.” She said, offering him a small smile, and looked back the way they’d come.

Still no sign of the riders, and she couldn’t hear them, now.

Still, she tried to focus on staying alert for signs of a threat. It kept her occupied.

Not for long enough, though. Eventually, the lack of action allowed her blood to settle, which allowed her to feel the full force of the rocking and jostling and swaying of the boat, which made her feel sick, which made her even _more_ conscious of the sound of the water and the smell of the water all around her, and it was just – _ugh._

She crawled into the bottom of the boat and vegetated there.

 

\---

 

Rayla….did not look pleased. In fact, she looked somewhere between angry and nauseous. Or maybe she was nauseous and angry about it. She was hunched in the bottom of the boat next to the bags, seeming as if she were making an earnest attempt at retracting her head into her body like a turtle. After a while, she made a low, groaning noise of discontent.

“Uh. Rayla? You doing okay?” Callum asked, tentatively, after a few seconds.

“Absolutely.” She answered, flatly, burying her face in her knees.

He exchanged a glance with Ezran, who didn’t seem any more convinced by this than he was. “….Are you sure?” His little brother pressed, putting Bait down onto one of the boat seats. It was at least a pretty roomy one – they wouldn’t be sitting without leg room for hours.

“I’m doing _great._ ” She groaned again. “I just love this boat _so_ much. I’m _so_ glad I stole it.” She retched, and shuddered, and huddled down again. “That’s why I’m down here. To be close to the boat.”

“Do you get boatsick?” Ezran asked with interest, shuffling onto the floor to sit with her.

She opened her mouth to speak, gagged, and then managed to control herself enough to speak. “Why _ever_ would you think that?”

Ez ignored the sarcasm. “Dad gets boatsick sometimes, when it’s at sea, but I’ve never met someone who gets sick on rivers before.” He informed her, and if anything, she looked even sicker at that.

“How wonderful for you,” She managed, and then shot upwards to vomit over the side.

Callum and Ezran winced, the splatter of sick hitting the water both visceral and disgusting to listen to. After a second of hesitation, Callum stepped down from the oar and crouched beside her to rub tentatively at her back. She stayed hunched over the side of the boat, eyes closed and hair hanging in front of her face, for a good while, and groaned intermittently.

“Do you want some water?” he offered, after a minute, and at the words, Ezran went to scramble around in the bags for the waterskin.

She raised her head slightly to glare at him, moving a hand to wipe at her mouth. “Great. _More_ water. That’ll definitely help!”

He rolled his eyes. “Ha ha. Yeah, I don’t mean river-water. Although, technically, it _is_ river water, but anyway-” He accepted the waterskin from Ez, offering it to Rayla. “You can wash the taste out, at least.”

She eyed it for a few seconds, then swiped out her hand to grab it. She took a swig and washed out her mouth, spitting it over the side, and shuddered again, before passing the waterskin back. “Thanks.” She said, begrudgingly, and inched slowly back into the bottom of the boat.

“Sometimes once you’ve been sick you feel better.” Ezran commented wisely, patting her sympathetically on the knee. “Maybe you’ll be fine now.”

“I’m sure.” She did not, in fact, seem sure. Rather, she was hunching back into the assorted bags as if maybe she could hide in them if she tried hard enough. Callum spared a second to feel a bit weird about her proximity to the dragon egg, but dismissed it easily enough – it seemed kind of silly to worry about her being near it when she looked so sick.

….Besides, technically speaking, she could have taken it and run off with it any time she wanted, really. It’s not like they’d be able to stop her.

Still.

Callum found it easier to ignore his persistent, instinctive distrust when she was looking this wretched, so that was something. He pursed his lips for a second, then went back up to paddle for a while.

In any case, no matter what Ezran had said on the matter, Rayla did not noticeably improve after being sick. Instead she went silent and still and tense, and every time he glanced her way her skin seemed paler, her expression more drawn. She wasn’t sick again, but she shuddered and gagged sometimes, and occasionally groaned. It seemed pretty horrible, actually – he couldn’t help feeling sorry for her.

Neither could Ez, apparently, because after a while he shuffled over to engage her in a rousing round of ‘I Spy’. It took him some prodding, but eventually he managed to convince her to raise her head and, you know, look at things, which was somewhat necessary to the game. Callum joined in when prompted, and among them they spied trees, a rock, a river, a bag, the sun, Bait, Callum’s sketchbook, an oar, a frog, a duck, and a patch of cattails.

At this last one, Rayla unexpectedly lunged out of the boat to grab a handful of them and cut them free with one of her blades, the speed and efficiency of the motion vaguely alarming after how long she’d been motionless. She returned to her previous position plus one large bundle of cattails, looking distinctly nauseous again, and offered as explanation “They’re edible. If you cook ‘em.”

After that Rayla declared that she was done spying, and resumed vegetating in silence.

And, well, there wasn’t much to be done for that. He and Ez shrugged, and went back to operating the oars between rounds of idle conversation and travel-games. Rayla at least seemed to be listening, so maybe it was helping to distract her, but who really knew. She just looked…pale. And distinctly unhappy.

In the end, he couldn’t take more than about an hour of it before he suggested they pull over to the river bank for a break on land. She seemed so pathetically grateful at this that he couldn’t help but wonder how bad, exactly, the boat trip _was_ for her.

He and Ez paddled the boat over to the river bank, where Rayla found her legs and stabbed one of her swords into the ground, tying off the boat’s tether to its hilt. When this was done she collapsed onto land with almost palpable relief, muttering something that sounded like “sweet, _sweet_ land” into the grass.

Ezran apparently elected to take the backpack with the egg in out of the boat for their break, which seemed pretty sensible, and he sat beside her in the grass with sympathetic concern. Callum joined him, taking his own bag with him, and after a second commented “So boat travel really takes a lot out of you, huh.”

“Really?” She mock-gasped, rolling over onto her back and staring up at the sky. She had a leaf in her hair. “I never would have noticed!”

After a second of hesitation, he tapped his hair on the corresponding location. “You’ve got a-“ He gestured meaningfully, and she blinked, sat up, and reached up to pull the errant foliage from her hair.

“Thanks.” She said idly, and after a moment, pulled herself to her feet. She was already looking less pale. “Who’s got the fruit jars? I think I’ll go stretch my legs, see if I can find some lunch.”

They removed the remaining milkfruit from Callum’s jar before passing them over, noting that they’d got a bit squished and the jars were now a bit messy. “Maybe we should wash them out?” Ezran suggested, holding one up.

Rayla shook her head firmly and plucked it out of his hand. “Nu-uh. This is my break _away_ from water. So I’ll be spending it _away._ From water.”

Ezran squinted quizzically. “But it’s just boats that make you sick, right? There’s nothing wrong with the river.”

“No reason not to rinse out the jars when the river’s right there.” Callum commented, watching closely now. There was something… _something_ here, nagging at him, like a detail he’d noticed but hadn’t quite understood yet.

She went very still for a second, and then bent to retrieve the other jar, which Ezran had extracted from Callum’s bag. “…I’ll be back in a bit.” She said, stiffly, and absconded into the treeline.

Ezran made an interested noise as she went. “That was weird.” He said. Bait croaked loudly, and his tongue shot out to grasp a handful of the mushy fruit.

“…Yeah.” Callum frowned, trying to get his head around whatever it was he’d noticed. In the end, he couldn’t quite piece whatever-it-was together, so he sat with Ez and engaged in the creation of a daisy chain while they waited for Rayla to return. Both his head and Ezran’s were adorned with flower crowns by the time she got back, a third one eaten by Bait, and a fourth in progress – though this was swiftly put aside when she arrived in favour of inspecting what she’d found.

It was mostly green stuff. Leaves, some herby-looking things, and what looked weirdly like thistle flowers. “I was expecting more berries.” Ez said, looking at the jars. He sounded disappointed.

Rayla rolled her eyes and dropped the second jar, which did have more tempting colour in it. “There’s some gooseberries in there. But we can’t live on only fruit, you know. All those plants are edible. They’re better cooked though, so we can sort something out with a campfire later on.” She sat down and raised an eyebrow at the two of them. “So, what’s with the flowers?”

Ez perked up. “We made daisy chains!” He declared proudly. “But we didn’t make them long enough to go around our necks so they’re flower crowns instead.” He held up the third one, still under construction, to demonstrate. “We’re making you one, too!”

She eyed it dubiously for a few seconds, but in the end couldn’t seem to withstand Ezran’s enthusiasm for long without a reluctant smile breaking over her face. “Cute.” She commented, in the end, and sat back to watch with tolerant amusement as Ez got hurriedly back to work with the daisies. Callum supplied him with the material, snapping off the flower stems as close to the earth as he could manage to allow more leeway for chaining them.

And so, a few minutes later, he and Ez had the interesting experience of trying to put a flower crown onto an elf. “Huh.” Ez remarked, as Rayla huffed amusedly and bent her head to be crowned. “I’ve never tried to put a flower crown on someone with horns before.”

“I’d be very surprised if you had.” Rayla commented dryly, and Callum shuffled forwards to help, taking the clumsy crown from his brother with delicate care.

“Here, Ez, just sort of hook it around – there.” He settled the daisy chain around her head with a lopsided smile, sitting back to inspect their handiwork. “Looks good.” He declared, and Rayla carefully raised her head again.

The white flowers with their yellow centres looked interesting, on her white hair, settled carefully around her horns. He’d even say it suited her. “I’ll take your word for it.” She said, eyebrows raised, and Ezran beamed at her.

“Now we all match.” He proclaimed, evidently satisfied. Goal accomplished, he promptly went to investigate the gooseberries.

With all the flowers and the food and the pleasant riverside break in the sunshine, Callum’s earlier nagging feelings about Rayla and the river had entirely slipped away. Up until he commented that they should probably get going soon, and she went still and stiff, and glanced out at the water with a strange look on her face. Like dread, almost, or anticipation, or reluctance. Or maybe all three at once. And then she took a little breath, like she was steeling herself, and stood up.

Callum’s head tilted as he observed all this, his impressions clicking into place in his head with a thought-fast flash of intuition. “Oh,” he realised, out loud, and the others turned to look at him. “Rayla, are you scared of water?” Ezran blinked, startled, but Rayla’s reaction was more interesting.

She tensed as soon as the words left his mouth, in a very telling way, and opened her mouth as if to protest – but then shut it again without saying a thing.

“Ohh, that makes sense.” Ezran said, sympathetically, and stepped up next to her. “No wonder you were having such a hard time.”

She gritted her teeth and strode determinedly towards the boat, turning to gesture them sharply into it. “Being scared of water is a stupid idea. Just because boats make me sick -” She broke off, muttering something darkly, and Callum noted that she hadn’t actually denied anything. Yeah, he was pretty sure he was right. And wasn’t that something? Someone as crazily talented and strong as Rayla being afraid of something as common as water – he’d never have expected that. “Get in. It’s time we got going.”

Callum and Ezran glanced at each other, and shrugged, before grabbing their things and obediently heading for the boat.

Once they were all aboard, Rayla pulled the boat’s tether from her weapon, retrieved the weapon itself, and jumped onto the boat. Her expression turned queasy the second she touched its surface.

Callum eyed her with new understanding, and stepped up to operate the left oar. “Come on, Ez, let’s give ourselves a boost.” He said, and together with his brother, they steered the boat back into the river’s grip.

Rayla sank into the bottom of the boat again, and didn’t say a word.

 

\---

 

 

 

_05.13.1001_

_From: Captain Camsun, Crownguard U12 Detached Operations_  
To: General Amaya, Standing Battalion Border Operations  
Subject: Report of enemy action in the area

_As ordered, my unit detached from duty at the Castle to report to the Banther Lodge and await the Princes. We arrived at approximately 18:00 hours on 05.12, and though we searched the premises and the surrounding area, the Princes were not to be found. We established a temporary base of operations on the grounds with difficulties that, in retrospect, are likely due to enemy action._

_I regret to inform you that as of today, we have confirmed the presence of a Moonshadow elf in the area, and the Princes have not yet been seen. Reports from the Castle state that one of the last sightings of Prince Callum was by guards on the wall who witnessed him being chased by an elf assassin on the eve of King Harrow’s death. Word from Lord Viren, now crowned Lord Protector, is that the Princes are dead, and as yet, I see no cause to disbelieve it. We remain at this post in hopes that the Princes may yet arrive, alive and unharmed._

_The Moonshadow elf we spotted was a young female, between 5’6”-5’9” in height, with white hair and pale skin and relatively short horns, matching reports of the elf seen chasing Prince Callum at the castle. This morning at approximately 10:45 she invaded the lodge grounds to commandeer the river boat that was moored nearby, injuring eight soldiers in the process, including myself. We have suffered no fatalities, but were entirely unable to prevent the elf’s escape, and must assume that she is using the Lune to expedite her return to Xadia. We attempted pursuit, but the speed of the river was more than our horses could match. I elected to call off the pursuit in favour of remaining at our post. I must offer my most sincere apologies for our failure to bring the elf to justice. I am sending a report to Kalsanis to alert them to the possibility of the enemy passing through in the next few days._

_We believe that the assassin spent the night in the area. A tent was mislaid in the process of establishing camp, and while this was initially assumed to be due to human error, we have now made another inspection of the interior of the lodge and seen signs that it has been raided for supplies. I must conclude that the assassin stole through our defences in order to outfit herself for her journey. As we do not have an inventory for the contents of the lodge, it is not possible to say with certainty which items were taken. However, signs of the elf’s footprints have been found in the dust in every room except for the master bedroom, along with indications that she entered through a window in the kitchen. I have attached a list of items presumed stolen based on impressions in the dust of various furniture in the lodge._

_I accept full responsibility for this unit’s failure to apprehend the assassin or impede her actions. Once again, I offer my most sincere regrets and apologies for what has occurred here._

_This unit will remain at this posting to await your command._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Timeline:** This chapter takes place very late on 13.05 to a decent way through 14.05, days 3 and 4 since the start of canon. Subtract two days to determine how long the kids have been travelling.
> 
>  **Key canon divergences:** no one has seen the princes, and a bloodthirsty elven assassin has been sighted where the princes should have been. The few people who have reason to believe Callum and Ezran are alive aren’t talking, and as a result…General Amaya is about to get some very bad news.
> 
>  **Fun fact:** when Rayla disarms the moustachioed dagger guy in canon, it really reminded me of the weapons taking exercises I’ve done before, so some of the stuff Rayla does in the combat section is inspired by various throws and movements in aikido. Another fun fact: I had to count bows on my fingers through editing the fight scene to make sure I got them all.
> 
> Afterword: thanks for the response on last chapter, everyone. You've all been lovely, and have helped me through my new-story-anxiety much quicker than I anticipated. I hope you continue to enjoy the story....and, if you have the time and energy, tell me about what you enjoy in the story.
> 
> Once again, happy s3, everyone! I'm elated that it has been confirmed but also terrified.


	3. Approaching the Belt iii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is much ado about camping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Both interpreted and uninterpreted sign language in this story is written with the grammatical structure of English, as well as regular speech marks.
> 
> Edited: 25/11/19, season 3 information and minor stylistic changes. Brief vague spoilers for information from S3E3 Ghost.

“Ugh. How long does this river go _on_ for?” Rayla groaned, in the tones of a rhetorical question, as she slumped somewhat dramatically all over their bags, her flower-crown lopsided, but held conveniently in place by her horns. And, whether or not she expected a response, Callum found himself thinking of an answer. Pensive, he sat down and brought out his sketchbook, holding it with particular care to avoid the risk of losing it overboard. He flipped through to the map he’d drawn, and inspected the line he’d sketched for the Lune, raising charcoal to trace along the edge of it.

He had a good memory for anything he saw. When his instructors had figured that out, his cartography talents had soared, and it served him pretty well now. Callum drew along the river in a little more detail, mapping out a little circle, and then shuffled over to show it to Rayla. She eyed him, looking vaguely taken-aback by his sudden manifestation at her side with a sketchbook.

“Look, see?” He pointed out the line. “This is the Lune. And the Lodge is there. If we keep going along this river, we’ll get to a small lake - it’s called Kalsa. And if you follow the river out of there, you get to the town of Kalsanis.”

Rayla glanced at the map, and pushed herself up a little, somewhat more alert. “So, your point is…?”

“The river goes through Kalsanis. So, we should ditch the boat a while before that, since we don’t want to be seen in the town, right?”

Understanding dawned in her eyes with an accompanying spark of relief. “You’re saying that once we get to this lake, we won’t have much longer on this thing.”

Callum nodded, lips quirking upwards, and drew in a little dot on the map for Kalsanis. “Pretty much, yeah.” Ezran, who had been sitting with one hand in his bag on the egg for a while now, opened his eyes and looked up at them, curious. He was the only one of them without a flower crown now, since Bait had eaten his about half an hour ago.

“Thank goodness.” Rayla sighed, head falling back onto the boat seat behind her. “So, how far away is the lake?”

“Er.” He frowned down at his map, and then shrugged sheepishly. “Don’t know, sorry. It’s hard to judge how far along the river we are, without any landmarks or anything.” She groaned, so he hastened to add “I’m pretty sure there’s a tributary that flows into the Lune around, er, here?” He traced it onto the map, around three-quarters of the way between the lodge and Kalsa. “So once we pass by that, it’ll be easier to tell.”

She raised her head to inspect the new mark, and then looked up at the sky again. “…It’s getting late-ish in the afternoon now. If we don’t pass this ‘landmark’ in an hour or two, we stop for the night.” She seemed decidedly relieved at the thought.

Ezran perked right up at that, foot tapping excitedly. “ _Ooh,_ does that mean we’re gonna put up the tent?” He asked, eager, and leaned forwards to await her answer.

“Uh…” Rayla looked a little bemused at his enthusiasm. “Well, maybe. It depends. The humans I took the boat from will probably have sent out messages about it. If there’s any towns or roads nearby, not sure it would be safe to put the tent up.” She glanced questioningly at Callum.

“Kalsanis is the closest town, and that does have a direct connection to the road to the capital.” He said, pointing out the large line he’d already drawn for the capital’s road. “But this part of the river sorta – bends around quite a long way? So if we do stop at, or before, the tributary – we’ll be pretty far from any roads, and still a long way from Kalsanis too.”

Rayla narrowed her eyes, glancing indecisively between Ezran’s pleading eyes and the map, and sighed. “ _Alright_ , we’ll put up the tent.”

Ezran punched the air triumphantly. “Yes!” She watched his enthusiasm and smiled, in a reluctant sort of way, as if she’d been trying to keep the smile contained.

“Why are you so excited about a _tent?_ ” She asked, half-exasperated, half-amused.

“It’s like camping!” He tried to explain, waving at Callum as if to get a supporting statement that it was, indeed, like camping. “Before we were just kinda, sleeping on the ground outside? And that’s not really fun, that’s just uncomfortable. And the grass is always wet in the morning. But if you have a tent it’s like you’re camping!”

“So if you add a tent, it’s suddenly fun.” Rayla said questioningly, raising an eyebrow. She glanced at Callum as well, as if waiting for an explanation.

“Probably my fault.” Callum admitted with a laugh. “I used to read him stories, and there was one with this family that went on a camping trip, and they met some wolves – anyway, Ez went through a bit of a camping obsession. Made blanket tents in our bedroom. Kept trying to sneak into the forest to camp.”

Ezran fixed him with a grumpier expression at that, but didn’t try to deny any of it. Rayla laughed, a somewhat surprising sound after how long she’d spent as an unhappy and nauseated ragdoll at the bottom of the boat. “Well, I’m glad you’re excited.” She said, plainly amused, and pushed herself up to sit cross-legged. “I’m sure the novelty will wear off after the first few times, so enjoy it while it lasts – I’ve still got to figure out how these human tents work, anyway.”

That roused his curiosity, and he settled into the bottom of the boat next to her. “So what, are elf tents different?”

She reached out and patted the tent pack, as if to demonstrate. “The material certainly is. Haven’t had a chance to get it all out and look properly, but seems like leather. My tent used a different kind of fabric. And this one’ll be bigger, too.”

“You had your own tent?” Ezran asked, eyes practically sparkling, and he pulled Bait into his lap to listen.

Rayla smiled, just a little awkwardly. “Well, yeah. All of – all of us in the team had our own. They weren’t big, but we had them to ourselves, at least.” She shook her head and quickly changed the subject. “Ours is made for soldiers to share, so it’ll be bigger than mine was. Not sure how much. I think it’ll probably be a two-person tent.” She made a face. “Might be a bit of a squeeze.”

Callum shared a look with Ez and shrugged. “Eh, it’ll probably be fine. Ez is only ten, and it’s not like either of us are full-grown soldier-size either.”

“Suppose.” She sighed, and looked at the tent pack again. “We’ll find out later, I’m sure.”

“Guess so.” Callum said, and after a second, flipped the page of his sketchbook back to the in-progress dragon egg and resumed drawing. He had to pass the time somehow, after all, and he already had his book open.

Rayla’s eyes went to the drawing and stayed there, but she didn’t comment. She didn’t look away either, though, and sort of…settled in, gaze laying idly on the page, watching him draw. It prompted a mild prickle of discomfort along his spine – Callum was by now completely unselfconscious about drawing in front of Ez, and didn’t _mind_ other people watching him draw, but it still wasn’t completely comfortable either. He didn’t really feel the need to object, though, and he _was_ the one who’d started drawing right next to her, so.

He ignored the minor flutter of self-consciousness and settled in for a good, long, careful study of his memory of the egg.

 

\---

 

As it happened, they didn’t reach the tributary in the approximately two hours specified. Rayla seemed a little less wrecked by the boating than earlier in the day, and pretty much just sat watching him draw the whole time – and while he wasn’t sure if those two things might be related, he wasn’t going to ask, either.

After a while, when Callum was putting the final touches on the egg drawing with shadows and a sense of a glow around it, Rayla looked up at the sky and said “We’d best be looking for a good spot to stop.”

“Really?” Ezran asked, looking up from the egg-bag he’d had his hands sitting in silently for like an entire hour. He was a funny kid like that. “Isn’t it still kind of early?”

“Sun will be starting to go down soon.” Rayla said, blinking at the horizon with a sort of narrow-eyed focus. “And while I don’t mind doing camp-things in the dark, I’ve been told you humans don’t see too well at night-time.”

Ez considered that, and nodded. “You were told correctly.” He informed her solemnly. “Are we going to make a campfire?”

“We certainly are.” She confirmed, and scanned the river banks. After about ten minutes of looking while they drifted placidly downriver, she identified a shallow-looking silty bank next to a small grassy clearing at the forest’s edge, and directed them to get the boat over to it.

Callum and Ezran obediently stepped up to the oars and manoeuvred them over, with some effort. The river was quite wide and fast here, after all. Once they got into the shallows it was easier, and Rayla jumped overboard with the rope to lodge it in the ground with one of her weapons, as before. “Should probably find some sort of stick to hold it instead, really.” She commented, as they began the process of unloading all the bags (and the bunch of cattails) from the boat. She wandered over to the nearest tree and perused the various twigs underneath it until she found a piece of wood that seemed to satisfy her, and brought the fallen branch over to tie the boat down properly.

“So, what now?” Callum asked, settling the last of their bags in a pile a short distance from Rayla’s boat-tether, which she was even now beating into the ground with the sheathed form of one of her weapons.

She stood, hanging the weapon at her side. “ _Now,_ we figure out this tent.” She announced, and strode forwards to sweep the tent pack from the ground.

“Yessss.” Ezran cheered, quietly, and skipped up to watch her from close range. Callum stood nearby, watching, uncertain if she’d want any help or not.

The first stage of figuring out the tent, apparently, was to upend the contents of the tent pack onto the ground. There was a large folded leather-looking thing, dark brown in colour, and another large folded thing that seemed more like treated cotton, like Callum’s light travel cloak. A pouch about as long as his forearm also fell out, tied with a drawstring at the top, and then some weird looking metal rods. This last thing apparently caused Rayla great interest, because she picked one up at once, revealing that they were sort of….thin, hollow metal poles with a string running through the middle, which meant as she picked up the first part a load of other sections trailed after it.

“Now _that’s_ different.” She said, intrigued, and backed off to pull the thing out to its full length. Experimentally, she reached out and took two of the sections, pressing them together at the ends, and managed to slot the second into the first with very little difficulty. “ _Huh._ ”

“…Different to what?” Callum ventured to ask, made curious by her own clear fascination, and Ezran peered forwards to look at the trailing metal segments, backing away a little when Rayla matter-of-factly started slotting each section into the whole.

“To what I’m used to. These? Are tent poles. They make the sort of…bones of the tent. Hold the shape up. Moonshadow elves have ways of making things that retract and extend, so our tent poles just sort of collapsed into themselves when we packed them up – but this is a pretty good solution too.” She explained, working her way along the tent pole until she had a large and fairly solid-looking metal rod, maybe a centimetre wide at any given part, and lightly curved along its length. She set it down and picked up the next one, setting about assembling that one too.

“That’s neat.” Ezran said, clearly thriving with all of this exciting tent-construction going on in front of him. “Can I try?”

Rayla smiled at him, expression open and easy, and gestured at the poles still on the ground. “Feel free.”

After a moment of watching Ezran work at his, Callum knelt down to have a go on the fourth pole, which seemed to be the last. It was easy to slot the pieces into each other – the metal seemed slightly rusty at the edges of each section, and a bit dented in places, but in relatively good condition. The sections seemed to each have a deliberate curve to them, characterised by a mild bend in two places along each. “This is the last one, I think,” he said as he finished, setting it on the ground next to the others.

Rayla hummed thoughtfully and lined them up next to each other. There seemed to be two different lengths, with two being a fair bit longer than the other two. She bent and investigated the drawstring pouch next, opening it with interest, and grinned at what she found inside. “Now _that’s_ good to see.” She said, pulling one of the items inside out. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking at. It didn’t seem like another tent pole – it was too short, maybe only a hand and a half in length, and hooked at the end.

“What is it?” Ez asked, and took it from her when she held it out for him, looking over it with interest. Most of its length seemed sort of dull, and even had a light layer of dry dirt on it in some places.

“Tent peg.” She answered, dropping the pouch lightly back on the ground. “Keeps the tent grounded if there’s wind, or if you’re on a slope, or loose earth. The tent probably has lines at the edges to put them through.” She picked up the big leather folded bundle now, and stepped back gratuitously, clearing a good amount of space before she started unfolding it.

It became very clear, very quickly, why the tent pack had been so heavy. The full unfolded thing was big, and vaguely rectangular – a good couple metres long on the longer sides, at least. Rayla straightened it all out and walked around it, kneeling to inspect and pull at certain parts, of which there were a lot. All around the edges there were leather loops, and there were reinforced leather strips hanging off in places too, each with their own loops on the end. In one section, there seemed to be a large semi-circular flap secured in place by a number of wooden toggles. And, peculiarly, there seemed to be…tubes, sort of, sewn all along the tent material, two running cross-wise from nearly corner to corner, and one each straight across the width near either end.

Callum bent down to poke his finger into one of them, peering at it. He inspected it for a second, then looked at the tent poles on the ground, and guessed “Are these for the poles?”

“Seems that way.” Rayla agreed, looking satisfied with the state of affairs. “Pass me a pole, would you? One of the longer ones.” Ezran pushed one of them over and Callum conveyed it to Rayla, who took one end and started pushing it carefully into one of the diagonally-running tubes, pausing occasionally to reach over and un-crease the leather, or get the pole unstuck. Once that one was done, she repeated the process with the other cross-ways pole, and then the two on either end of the tent.

“Now what?” Ezran inquired, fascinated, and Callum had to admit to being curious too. While the poles had been lightly curved, and they did arch the tent and give it very slight shape while flat on the ground, it still looked more like a flat rectangle of leather than an actual tent.

Rayla surveyed the shape of it thoughtfully, and beckoned Callum over. “I’ll need your help for this, I think. Grab the other end of this one, would you? And brace it against the ground.”

“Er.” He pressed the end of the tent pole uncertainly against the soil. “Like that?”

She sighed at him. “It’ll do. Just hold it steady while I try to-“ She braced her own end against the ground, and – he wasn’t completely sure what she did then, maybe pushed up on the pole? – but the whole thing sort of arched outwards in a way that seemed like it should have bent the pole horribly, in an astonishingly sudden movement.

“Whoa!” Ez said, flinching back reflexively. Callum, who was much closer to the tent, recoiled similarly, finding half of a tent structure suddenly up in front of him.

Rayla jumped clean over the tent to land next to Callum, showing him a part near the end of the pole which he apparently needed to – click in, or something? It took a surprising amount of force to get it to go, he really needed to push at it, but she seemed satisfied enough once he’d done it.

“Now the next one.” Rayla directed, pointing him over to the other diagonal pole, and he did as he was told. It did the outwards-contorting thing as readily as the first one, but unfortunately, Callum did not manage to secure the clicky-bit at the end properly and it collapsed a second later.

“Sorry!” He called, and she rolled her eyes.

“Just try it again.”

In the end, it took a few missteps and a bit of practice, but he and Rayla (mostly Rayla, really) got all four of the poles arching properly, and all at once their tent actually looked like a tent. It was surprisingly satisfying to stand back and look at it – Rayla was giving it an appraising once-over while Ezran scurried around inspecting every corner delightedly, like she was marking all the various dangly bits and the loops all over the bottom.

“What are you thinking?” He asked, curiously, and she snapped out of her briefly-held reverie.

“How the inner-tent is going to work, mostly.” She said, and then stepped around to where the front seemed to be, unhooking the several toggles around the edge that held the ‘door’ in place. “These are going to be a pain to hook up from inside.” She commented, as she went, the front ‘door’ of the tent flapping out limply onto the ground as she dropped it.

“I’ll…take your word for it.” Callum said, shuffling forwards to look as Rayla crouched and went into the tent.

“Huh.” She expressed, a second later, with a sort of bemused surprise, and he peered in at her.

“Is something wrong with it?” Ez asked immediately, waiting with bated breath. She looked out, an odd look on her face, and shook her head.

 She ducked out of the tent and went to get the other material part, picking it up to inspect the edges. “No, nothing’s wrong.”

“Then why do you seem all…surprised?” Callum prodded, raising an eyebrow.

“Probably because I am, in fact, _surprised._ ” She said, with a dry edge of sarcasm, and pulled the remaining bit of tent inside the main bit. “Give me a minute, will you?”

Callum shrugged. “O-kay.” He stepped over to Ez and sat down, watching with his brother as Rayla ducked around here and there inside the tent, seeming to….hang the inner bit around the insides of the outer bit? It definitely seemed to be suspended in there, somehow, maybe from some sort of hook or toggle?

Eventually, she seemed done, and ducked back out of the tent again, straightening up. She surveyed the whole thing from outside again, still with that strange look on her face, and then ducked in to open what was, apparently, a second door-flap on the inner part. That complete, she backed up, and planted herself on the ground next to Callum, staring into the interior of the tent with an almost comical nonplussed expression.

Ez leant forwards to look in, foot bouncing with excitement. “Is it done now?” He asked, eager. “Can I go in?”

“….Yeah. Yeah, it’s done.” Rayla confirmed after a minute, and shook her head slowly. “Just – if you’re going in, take your shoes off, alright? We don’t want to get our inner-tent all muddy.”

Ezran immediately set to work pulling off his shoes faster than Callum had ever seen him accomplish before, staggering into the tent with a hilarious amount of enthusiasm to sit inside, lay down, and roll around the interior with delight. Callum huffed with amusement, and then glanced at Rayla, who…still looked like she’d swallowed a lemon, or something.

He folded his arms. “Okay, _what_ is with that look on your face? Does the tent smell bad or something?”

“Smells fine to me.” Ez reported happily from inside. Making a series of doubtful croaks, Bait hopped up to the tent and stared inside.

Rayla huffed, and shook her head again. “No. It’s just…a pretty decent tent. The poles work well, it’s got a full inner-tent instead of just a ground-sheet, it has storm-lines and a full set of pegs…it’s a good design.”

Callum blinked at her. “And…that’s surprising, why?”

She shrugged, looking vaguely sheepish; the first time he’d seen such an expression on her. “Suppose I just didn’t expect humans to make things as well as elves do.” She admitted, folding her own arms as if to defend herself from rebuttal.

Ezran poked his head out and offered her an unimpressed look. “Well, that’s not very nice.” He told her, though he sounded very mild about it.

“It’s…maybe true, though?” Rayla suggested, pulling one of her weapons from her side to demonstrate. It clicked out into blade-form with an easy motion. “See this? These are made magically. The blades are longer than should be able to fit in the handle, but they all fit together anyway. And you must have heard of Sunforge weaponry.”

Callum frowned. “I _think_ so? Maybe?”

“Not me.” Ez reported, beckoning Bait towards him. After some very dubious looks, the glow toad obligingly hopped into the mouth of the tent, and then again into the internal section.

“Well, anyway…” Still looking somewhere on the verge of embarrassed, Rayla shrugged. “Humans definitely can’t use magic to make things, right? Unless it’s dark magic.” She scowled at that, as if newly reminded of how much she disliked the idea of it.

Callum narrowed his eyes at her, arms still firmly crossed. “Well, I bet you don’t make _everything_ with magic, right? Are elf tents magical?”

“…Not that I _know_ of.” She conceded, flipping her sword away.

“Then why shouldn’t humans be able to make non-magic things as well as elves?” He demanded, a little more insistently. He wasn’t…annoyed, exactly, but…it still felt important to point out. Defending the honour of his species, maybe.

She looked away. “…No reason, really.” She admitted, with a small sigh. “Guess humans aren’t the only ones who have wrong ideas about the other side.”

He eyed her, just a little suspiciously, but felt considerably mollified now that she’d admitted it. He let his arms drop, and offered a conciliatory smile. “Well, it’s a whole lot less insulting than thinking the other side drinks blood, so I can’t really hold it against you.”

She snorted with laughter, very abruptly, and the mild tension broke in a second. “Well, _that’s_ certainly true.” She chuckled at that, and stood up, moving forwards to the tent. “So: I admit it. Humans can put a good tent together. This journey might not be so bad after all.” She looked in, and made a slight face. “…Though it _is_ a tad small.”

Callum blinked, and shuffled over to poke his head in properly. With Ezran and Bait in there, it was easier to see that…yeah, actually, it was a bit cramped-looking. The tent seemed deceptively large on the outside, but that was just the outer-part. The inner section was quite a lot smaller. “…Eh, we’ll manage.” He predicted, semi-confidently. “Better than sleeping outside anyway. We get a lot of rain in Katolis in springtime. Storms, too.”

“A _lot_ of storms.” Ezran emphasised, and he _would_ know, given how thunder always woke him up.

“Believe me, I’ve noticed.” She stood to run a hand along the material of the outer tent. “This leather has been treated. Should be pretty good against rain. The inside…” She felt at that, now, looking uncertain.

Callum checked it himself. “Feels a bit like my travel cloak.” He said, after a moment. “It’s probably rain-resistant, at least.” He stepped back and inspected the whole of the tent critically. It looked….well, it looked like a tent. He wasn’t exactly an expert. But Rayla said it was a good tent, and she probably had a lot of experience with them at this point, so he was inclined to believe her. “What are those….long dangly strap things, all over it?” He asked, reaching out to flap one of them around. They were sewn, very firmly and securely, to near the roof of the tent, and seemed exceptionally long.

“Storm lines.” Rayla said, stepping over to point out the loop at the bottom end. “Extra place to put more tent pegs if it’s windy, basically ties the tent to the ground. Elves use ropes instead of these long straps. Makes it easier to repair if they break. But these are probably fine.” She then tutted, and went to gather the strap up, looping it in on itself and tying it quickly. “Whoever put this away last time was lazy. You’re meant to tie them up.”

Ezran poked his head out curiously. “Should we be using any of the pegs today? Or is it bad-weather only?”

“Usually a good idea to have a few in. Come on out and I’ll show you how you’re meant to do them.” She smiled at him, and he hurried to put on his shoes and come out for the demonstration. Callum watched with his own small smile as she walked Ez through the proper way to do it – at an angle, apparently, with the hook part of the peg kicked into the ground at the end. And all of this, done while still wearing her flower-crown.

She was good with Ez. Patient, happy to show him how to do things, seemed to like him. It went a long way towards warming him to her.

He watched as she tied up the storm-lines and Ez went around putting in every tent peg he could, full of eagerness for the novelty of it, and found himself feeling unusually optimistic about this whole trip. It was a long way, yeah, and would probably be stupidly hard at times, and maybe they’d all be grumpy whenever the weather was bad….and, yeah, Rayla was an elf, which would have been a deal-breaker a few days ago….but, all at once, he really felt like it could all work out. Like maybe they could take this long journey together and get the egg to Xadia without arguing every step of the way, or getting to hate each other, or getting completely sick of the whole thing.

Callum usually tended to overthink and worry too much about everything, so the sudden optimism was a nice change.

He reached up to absent-mindedly straighten his own flower crown, and went to go pull the rest of the bags over to the tent. He could be wrong, but he was fairly sure that the reasonably large space between the outer-tent and inner-tent would be a better place to keep them than by the river. Ez would probably take the egg inside the tent with him to sleep, anyway.

 

\---

 

Though she’d been amused at Ezran’s enthusiasm for something as simple as assembling a tent, as the evening went on, Rayla couldn’t help but start to enjoy the process of camp-making herself. Maybe it was just because Ezran was so excited about all of it, or because it was obviously completely new to Callum too, but either way their simple enthusiasm was unexpectedly contagious. She couldn’t help but laugh as the two of them, plus Bait, crowded around the quickly-constructed campfire to watch her demonstrate the use of the spark-rocks.

Making a campfire wasn’t exactly difficult, when you were in a forest and it hadn’t rained for a couple of days. All she needed to do was gather up some twigs and dead leaves, and a few larger bits of rotten wood, and they were good to go. She built it closer to the river and a good distance from the tent through long experience – she’d been taught to never leave anything flammable that you didn’t mind catching fire within a few metres of a campfire, and intended to hold to that teaching.

The sun was dipping low now, with the sky bleeding the clouds into an attractive blend of pinks and pale yellows. And, as much as she hated water, she could appreciate the way the river reflected those colours as she bent over the firewood, spark-rocks in hand.

The first spray of sparks drew a chorus of appreciative _‘oooh’s_ from her human audience, and caught on one of the dry leaves. She struck them again, and once more for good measure, and then bent to gently breathe life into the fragile embers.

“And that’s all there is to it.” She announced, a little more grandly than was necessary, sitting back to gesture at the fire. “It’ll burn merrily once it takes off properly. We’ll keep adding wood, and that’s that.”

Ezran applauded politely, little hands clapping, and shuffled closer to the fire. “What happens if it rains?”

“Then you lose your fire. If there’s no shelter.” She smiled and went to go root about in the group’s bags while the princes watched the growing flames, picking out the bits she needed as she found them. Jar of greens, yes. Cooking pot, yes. Waterskin, also yes. She located the now-wilting cattails and brought those with her as well, balancing the lot on her arm as she walked back to rejoin the boys.

“Oh, the green stuff.” Ezran noted, blinking curiously up at her as she settled beside the fire, laying everything out, and uncapping the jar. “How are you going to cook it?”

“Just by boiling it, I’m afraid.” Rayla said, apologetically, and they both….didn’t seem to have that much reaction to that. Hm. Did they just….not have any experience with what was done to food to make it taste good? She had no idea how human princes grew up. “It’ll be a bit bland. No spices. But I found some rosemary at least, which’ll give a bit of flavour.”

“Well, at least it’s not more fruit.” Callum said pragmatically, shuffling over to inspect the various bits of greenery she extracted. It was a bit of an eclectic mix, admittedly. Burdock, chicory, cattails, sheep sorrel, and dandelion didn’t really share much of a taste profile other than ‘green’, or maybe ‘leafy’. Some of it was pretty bitter too, which didn’t help.

“I _like_ fruit.” Ez said, frowning, and Callum shook his head at him.

“Fruit tastes good, but it doesn’t really fill you up that well. I’ve been feeling a bit weird after eating nothing but fruit for days.” He pointed out, reasonably, and Rayla glanced at him sharply.

“Weird?” She repeated, eyes narrowing, and stared at him expectantly. “Weird how?”

“Er.” He looked at her, taken-aback. “You know, sort of…jittery? Like when you’ve eaten nothing but sugar all day and you need to find a sandwich, or something.”

She filed away the word ‘sandwich’ to investigate later, and focused on the important thing, which was that she now had confirmation that humans probably weren’t meant to live on fruit alone. She’d _guessed,_ based on how she knew humans ate meat and ‘bread’ and other non-fruit things, but it’s not like she had a lot of first-hand experience with humans. “…Right.” She frowned, and didn’t say anything more.

She considered whether she should say that, technically speaking, she had no idea if these plants she’d picked were edible for humans as well as elves.

…Probably the responsible thing to do. “I should _probably_ mention.” Rayla said, indicating the plants. “These are all safe for elves to eat, but I don’t know if humans work the same. I _think_ they should be fine, but…” She shrugged.

Callum and Ezran exchanged a vaguely alarmed look. “Uh.” Ez offered, a little nervously, and then didn’t seem to know what to say from there.

“…Maybe we should mainly just eat one of a thing each? So if something makes us sick we’ll know what it was.” Callum suggested after a moment, which was actually pretty sensible of him.

“Sounds good. You can start off eating a little bit and waiting a while to make sure, then have the rest of it?” She recalled her lessons on how to identify poisonous plants that she wasn’t familiar with. The basic principles probably still applied to humans.

“…Yeah, sure.” Ez said after a few moments, expression a little nonplussed, but relatively resolute. “What tastes best?”

“Probably the cattails?” Rayla said after a second’s pause, looking over the assemblage of plants. “They’re early growth, which means the heads taste a bit like corn.”

“Neat.” The little prince nodded. “I’ll have those then.”

“Er.” Callum glanced over the plants, then shrugged helplessly. “I’ll have the stuff with the little purple flowers, maybe?”

“Sheep sorrel.” She informed him, amused.

“Yeah, that.”

She inspected the state of the fire, and reached for the pot. “Alright then. Let’s do the cattails first. I think they take a bit longer.”

The daylight gradually ebbed away, leaving the campsite lit by nothing but the fire under the bubbling pot, and the light of the waning moon above. Ezran tried the cattail heads and pronounced them moderately tasty, and Callum made a face at his sorrel but ate it anyway. Half an hour later neither of them were vomiting or experiencing stomach aches, so she felt relatively safe giving them the rest of it.

It was…oddly nice. A friendly atmosphere. Less business-like and serious than she was used to from months of travel with fellow assassins. Though…maybe that wasn’t a good thing? Their mission was a serious one. They had to get the egg home, and stop an entire war. Maybe they _should_ be as serious about everything as the assassins had been. She frowned, feeling oddly guilty for the levity of the camp, and not certain if the feeling was justified or not. Surely it didn’t do any harm to be cheerful – keep morale up?

She couldn’t help but wonder what Runaan would think, of all of this. Making camp with two human princes, testing out new plants on them and watching while they laughed and pelted each other with bits of grass whenever they got bored of waiting for the next batch of greens to boil. What would he think, to look at her here? Would he still call her a fool, for daring to trust them? For daring to think that maybe humans and elves could get along?

She couldn’t help but wonder what he’d think.

….She couldn’t help but wonder if he was alive to think anything at all.

 _You let him live, but you’ve killed us all,_ she remembered, and shivered, arms wrapping tightly around her sides. She thought of finely-wrought metallic flowers, drifting gently on a pool, and couldn’t help but imagine them drowning.

“Rayla?”

Her head jerked upwards in the direction of her name, and she blinked at – Callum, right. “Oh, er, yeah?” She attempted, in some small hope of disguising that she’d been utterly lost in not-particularly-happy thoughts.

No such luck. “Are you okay?” He asked, his expression all occupied with that sort of…friendly concern again, like when she’d been having a distinctly unpleasant time on the river.

She offered a half-smile to placate him. “Yeah. Just thinking. Nothing important.” She said, and looked up at the dark sky full of stars. “…When is it humans usually go to bed, anyway?” She added after a moment, in a not very subtle effort to change the subject.

Callum looked up at the sky as well, and shrugged. “Ez usually goes to sleep about eight. Me, it depends, but later. I have no idea what time it is now though, but I could probably get to sleep.”

“I’m not tired.” Ezran said promptly, a statement somewhat undermined by the yawn he produced a mere second later. Callum huffed with laughter, and reached out to pat him on the shoulder.

“Sure you’re not, Ez. That must have been a yawn of awakeness and energyhood, right?”

Ezran opened his mouth to answer, but it turned into another yawn.

Rayla’s lips quirked, and she glanced up at the position of the moon, feeling its progression through the sky as keenly as she might the wind on her skin. “It’s somewhere between eight and nine now, if that helps.” She offered.

Callum ruffled his brother’s hair sympathetically. “Bedtime, bud. Come on, you’ll get to sleep in the tent, right?”

That _did_ brighten the boy’s face, and he nodded contemplatively. “That _is_ very tempting.” He admitted.

“Let’s go get set up, then.” Callum stood, helping his brother to his feet, and looked down at her a second later. “…Rayla? Will you be staying up, or…?”

She stared up at him for a few seconds, and slumped. “Actually, I’m exhausted. I didn’t exactly get a full night of sleep, if you remember.”

“I did wonder.” He smiled lopsidedly, and held out his hand to her. She stared at it for a second, then reached out and took it, allowing him to pull her upwards to standing.

“We can use the cloaks as bedrolls, now. It’ll make the ground a bit more comfortable.” She offered, leaving the fire smouldering lowly behind them as she walked in-step with the two princes, Bait hanging from Ezran’s arms.

“Sounds good to me.” Callum inspected the open front of the tent, squinting at the toggles. Was it too dark for him to see, this far from the fire. “So what, we close the outer door-thing first?”

“Once you’re inside the tent, yes.” Rayla agreed dryly, and turned to sit inside the inner-tent with her feet out, to take off her boots. Ezran flopped down beside her to do the same, and for the first time, she started to feel a bit weird about all of this. She’d got so used to having her own tent to sleep in, and have at least a hint of privacy in, and that…just was not going to be a thing, here.

Attempting not to show any sign of the mild discomfort that prickled at her neck, Rayla set her boots next to her bag, in the between-section of the tent, and then untied the cloak to set about assembling her sleeping space.

Then she paused. “Who’s sleeping where?” She questioned, and both boys stopped where they’d been divesting themselves of footwear.

“Er.” Callum said, intelligently.

“Depends on if you’d rather get kicked or talked at.” Ezran told her, cheerful, and laughed at whatever it was her face did in response. “I move about a lot in my sleep. Or Callum says so anyway.”

“Ezran has a talent for kicking me in the shins when he’s sleeping.” Callum nodded, solemnly. “Or sometimes slapping me in the face. That’s happened too.”

Rayla stared, increasingly discouraged. “Erm….”

“And Callum sleep-talks sometimes, but he doesn’t kick so much.” Ez added.

Slowly, she brought up a hand to rub at her forehead, unsure whether the incipient headache was from tiredness or the sudden discomfort of thinking about sleeping arrangements. “…Ugh, whatever, Callum in the middle then.” She sighed, and pulled out her appropriated fur cloak to the right side of the tent.

Ez pulled in his own makeshift bedroll, and Bait, and also the egg of the Dragon Prince. Its glow was more noticeable than usual, in the dark of the tent.

“Your shins will probably thank you for that decision.” Callum said, amused, and shuffled into the tent as well, rolled-up cloak behind him. “Er, do I shut the tent now?”

Rayla sighed again. “That would probably be a good idea, yes.”

All told, it took a good ten minutes of shuffling about and arranging things and closing tent-doors before Rayla could finally think about attempting to sleep, and even then…

Ezran flopped down facing his side of the tent without any apparent care in the world, an arm slung around the incredibly precious dragon egg as if it were a cuddly toy, and Bait settled near his head. Callum didn’t seem to have any compunctions about being squashed up against his brother in the middle either, but-

The tent was small for three. It was very small. They weren’t _completely_ squished in, maybe, but when Rayla finally got herself to lay down – well, her shoulder was brushing Callum’s, and…it was weird. It was _weird_ , and new, and uncomfortable, and she didn’t have her own space and she had no experience whatsoever with being up in other peoples’ space like this, and it was making her skin half-crawl with nerves.

“Night, guys.” Ezran announced, clearly with no compunctions about the close quarters at all, and sounding downright cheery.

Callum…well, he didn’t look as uncomfortable as Rayla felt, but he didn’t look completely relaxed either. His eyes flickered over to her a couple of times, and she was abruptly aware that her own eyes would be visible to him in the dark even if nothing else was, so she turned away on her side and tried not to feel so unreasonably bothered about the sudden proximity.

She lay there, tense, face pressed close to the fabric of the inner-tent, and exhaled slowly. She could feel the light pressure of Callum’s clothing brushing against the shoulders of her own. She could hear the _breathing_ of other people, close to her. When they shuffled and shifted, the fabric of the tent shifted as well, and she felt – directly or indirectly – every small movement they made. She was so, so intensely not used to this. How did people _ever_ share beds without waking up every time the other person moved? Didn’t they feel uncomfortable, sleeping that close to other people? Was it just a matter of getting used to it, like Callum and Ezran seemed to have done?

Moon and stars, but she hoped it was just a matter of getting used to it.

She stayed on her side, still and quiet, and tried to relax. She heard the shift in breathing when Ezran fell asleep, soonest of any of them. She heard the same shift, ten or so minutes later, when Callum relaxed into sleep.

It took her quite a bit longer to manage the same.

 

\---

 

Gren breathed, careful and slow, to keep his composure where it belonged. Even though he was horrified, too. Even though he was upset, and angry, and wished that there weren’t other people around that he had to keep a level face for. He had a job to do. And he would do it.

They hadn’t expected the contents of the letter. They’d been wary of the delay, having expected a missive from the detached forces reporting the arrival of the princes a half-day ago. But they hadn’t expected the message that had come instead. They would never have expected something like that. They couldn’t have.

General Amaya had barely finished sitting the vigil for King Harrow when it came. The loss of a King – a step-brother – was bad enough, but _this_? He could only imagine how she was feeling.

She’d taken the letter into the command tent, Gren at her side as always. He’d watched her break the seal, unroll it, watched her eyes run over the text. Watched her go pale, hands trembling, eyes widening, face emptying of blood at shocking speed. He’d been signing a question before she even finished the letter, but she hadn’t answered. Not then.

No, she hadn’t answered.

The contents of the command tent had been quite thoroughly wrecked in the outburst the letter had incited. She’d screamed, full of rage and grief and awful despair. He’d never heard her scream before. She hardly ever made any sound louder than a huff of breath – but under the circumstances, he understood the exception. She’d crumpled the letter in her hand enough that it had been hard to read, when she finally passed it over. Her fingernails had dug into her palms hard enough to break skin, staining the paper with the blood its words carried.

King Harrow was dead. And now….now, it seemed like the princes were, too. Those sweet boys, always so happy to see their aunt, and so kind to Gren, too. They were so _young_. They didn’t deserve this.

When the letter first came, there might have been some shred of hope remaining. Some hope that the presence of the assassin didn’t necessarily equate to the deaths of the princes. But then the second report had come, solemnly confirming that the boys had still not arrived at the lodge, and were assumed killed.

 _They didn’t deserve this,_ he thought again, bitterly, harsh upset rising like acid in his throat at the thought. They were just kids. Lord and Lady, they were just _kids._

Still, though, he breathed. He kept his composure. He relayed General Amaya’s orders with every edge of anger and vengefulness that the tense movements of her hands and the storm on her face belied.

They were just _kids._

Where were they now? What had the assassin done with them? Had she thrown their bodies off the battlements, to be swallowed by the river? Had she done _worse?_

“Captain Fen and his unit are ordered to return to the Breach at once. A crow will be sent ordering a reinforcement of the border guard, with additional patrols to be held along the regions where elves are suspected to cross over from Xadia. It is absolutely imperative that the border hold.”

Fen knew enough sign that he probably didn’t need the benefit of Gren’s interpreting. It was a boon for his soldiers, though, who all snapped to attention with the order.

He glanced back at the General every second, well-accustomed to his work, but couldn’t help but hurt at the sight of her face. She often looked determined, yes, and sometimes frustrated, and frequently there was an indomitable sense of will to her that heralded nothing but misfortune for anything that stood in her way. The look on her face now…it was a little like that, but twisted, transformed from inspiring to a tragedy. Her lips turned sharply downwards, pain and fury living in every inch of her, burning out of every movement she made. It was awful to look at.

“Corvus,” Gren said, with the same abrupt and commanding clip to his voice that the General’s sign had. He straightened attentively at the sound and sight of his name, watching intently for orders. “You will ride out ahead of us and proceed as quickly as possible to the last known location of the assassin. If she went to such trouble to steal a boat, she’ll be taking the river, but she can’t hope to take it through Kalsanis without being seen. Find where she moors, and track her from there.”

Corvus bowed his head, face solemn and dark. “I hear and obey, General. I _will_ find her.”

Amaya nodded, sharply, and resumed speaking.

“I know that you will. And when you do, you’ll secure her, and bring her to _me._ ” Gren suppressed a shiver at the look on his General’s face, but didn’t miss a beat. “Ultimately, your priority is to bring her to justice. If you feel you’ll be unable to hold her for long enough, then do what you can to find out what she did to Prince Callum and Prince Ezran, and where she left their bodies, and execute her immediately thereafter. I’ll settle for her corpse if I can’t have her alive.”

“I understand.”

“You’ll send reports as often as you can. I want to know where she’s been and where she’s going. If you lose the trail, you’ll report that too.”

“Of course.”

Amaya exhaled, very slightly, and nodded again. Her next words were signed a little more slowly, with a bit less vicious energy. “I’m trusting you with this, Corvus. You’re the best tracker in the kingdom, and if you can’t find her, I expect you to tell me in time to arrange alternatives.” She waited for his acknowledgement, and finished. “Go. All of you. I’ll have written copies of your orders sent out by dawn.”

Corvus saluted, and so did Captain Fen, and all the lines of soldiers in his unit. General Amaya didn’t stay to see them leave, but whirled on her feet and swept back into the command tent like a hurricane. Gren followed hastily in her wake, sweeping the front aside.

Unlike the loosely wedge-shaped tents assigned to the infantry, the command tent was propped up on all sides, tall enough to stand in. It took a fair bit of assembly, but it was what was afforded the most renowned General in all the Pentarchy.

It was a space that afforded her the loss of her composure.

She collapsed to her knees on the ground and, with hissing, uneven gasps of breath, drove her fist into the earth with an awful, inconsolable force of grief. He hesitated, uncertain what to do, and stepped forward. It was his privilege and his responsibility to remain by her side.

Her face had changed, now. Still angry. Still at the mercy of unrelenting grief. But the expression had fallen open, vulnerable, teetering on the edge of despair.

When her hands moved, they were trembling. “Her boys,” She said, lips pressed tightly together as though to retain some vestige of composure, and he watched her speak in silence. “My nephews. They’re gone.”

He couldn’t help but react to the force of that grief. His shoulders shook as he signed back to her. “I’m so sorry. They were such good boys. They didn’t deserve this.”

Her teeth clenched along with her fists, that terrible fury running wild on her face. “They’d done nothing wrong. Nothing to deserve dying. Harrow, I could understand as a target, but the boys – I can never forgive it. Never, never, never.” She signed this last word three times, increasingly agitated, increasingly vehement, rage bubbling up in every movement.

He bowed his head. There wasn’t a lot he could say that wouldn’t be meaningless.

When she resumed speaking, it was slower. Almost ponderous. He might have thought her calm if not for the black, vengeful hate that was growing on her face, second by second.

“If I have to die to see it done, I’ll catch that vile murderess. Even if I have to follow her to the heart of Xadia, you understand?”

Silent, he signed back: “yes.” He understood. He didn’t know that these were deaths she could survive, without revenge and justice to soothe the void they left. Her family was gone, her family on whose behalf she’d fought so fiercely all these years. Her defence of the kingdom had been unwavering, unfaltering, and her renown had grown with every year. But he knew where that strength had been anchored. He feared what would become of her, now that she was cast adrift.

He watched her as she scowled, eyes staring off somewhere far beyond and removed from the edge of the tent, as if searching for the elven murderer already.

Gren couldn’t even pity the monster, not really. Not given what she’d taken. But he could recognise, grimly, that there was no force in the world that he believed capable of holding General Amaya from her justice now….and that if it were him, fleeing an Amaya driven to this extremity of rage? He’d probably just kill himself and be done with it, rather than suffer finding out what she’d take as the blood-price for the princes’ deaths.

He couldn’t find it in him to pity the assassin for what was coming to her.

But he could regret, deeply and truly, how much this loss would hurt Amaya.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:  
> This chapter takes place on 14.05, day 4 since start of canon. Subtract two days to determine how long the kids have been travelling.
> 
>  **Key canon divergences:** Amaya is now quite sure that her nephews are dead, and is on a mission of revenge.
> 
>  **On camping:** Look, I recognise I dedicated a whole lot of words to tent-assembly this chapter, but like…while future tent-assembly will be considerably less gratuitously described, if you’re not a fan of reading about the kids going about camping/travelling adventures and misadventures, you may have the wrong fanfiction. I’ve been feeling super nostalgic about my own long-haul hiking experiences lately, and by god I’m going to express it.
> 
> I’m going to wipe my trekking experience all over this fanfiction, and none of you can stop me. 
> 
> **On the tent:** I’m writing their tent as being functionally the same as the tents my trek group used, which were explicitly designed for harsh weather and temperature conditions and terrain, and in its general shape was reasonably similar to the Moonshadow elf tents. The materials are different and I made the tent poles work differently too (mine aren’t bent along the shape, they just….are weirdly flexible), but honestly there’s so much variance in how tent poles work that I don’t really care much about the details there. The main points are: this tent is going to be a fair bit heavier and somewhat less waterproof than a modern tent would be.
> 
>  **On sleeping arrangements:** Rayla is not comfortable. She is not comfortable at all. I’m going to have a great time with the progression of her sleeping situation throughout this fanfiction. Callum and Ezran, who are heavy sleepers, will be mostly oblivious to her plight.
> 
>  **Afterword:** Chapter 6 is about 30-50% done at this point! I’ve actually written a fair bit the last few days but it’s mainly been far-future scenes, so I am running out of chronologically-arranged prewritten content here. 
> 
> If you’ve read and at least somewhat enjoyed this, please show it by boosting my story stats in some way. The anxiety when new chapters go up is _intense_ , and good reception of the chapter can mean the difference between me writing 4k the next day or not managing to write anything at all.


	4. Approaching the Belt iv

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which two human princes enjoy water, and Rayla is Not Amused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited: 25/11/19, season 3 information and minor stylistic changes. No particular spoilers.

Rayla did not sleep well that night.

She discovered, probably no more than an hour after she had finally managed to fall asleep, that Ezran had been half-right about Prince Callum: he did not kick too badly in his sleep. But he _did_ sprawl, which was almost as bad, and did occasionally lead to its fair share of kicking. Every time one of his legs pushed its way obliviously into her side of the tent, or he ended up on his back with one arm landing on his brother and one on her, she awoke instantly, on-alert and hands going instinctively for weapons she wasn’t wearing. But it wasn’t an attacker in the night. It was just…humans. Humans who didn’t keep their limbs to themselves while they slept. Ugh.

The first few times, she kicked or elfhandled him back into his rightful place, becoming more and more bad-tempered about it as the night went on; especially given he didn’t even have the decency to wake up and be ashamed of commandeering everyone’s space. When it had grown late enough that the pull of the moon on her bones was starting to ebb, she gave serious thought to the idea of just getting up and sleeping outside, where no one was likely to put legs over hers or deposit arms over her side. In the end, she gave a loud and very grumpy sigh to the night air, and just…resolved to ignore it. So what if the human was taking up three times his designated space in the tent? She could just…ignore it. Maybe. With practice.

She did have a moment of somewhat vindictive satisfaction when, not far from dawn, Callum’s arm made the mistake of sprawling not only onto her, but onto her head. Which was facing away from him. And, therefore, was presenting him with the pointy end of her horns. He jolted awake with a yelp, mumbled something surprised and incoherent, and then promptly rolled over and fell back asleep again. _Honestly._

Rayla gave up on the whole sleep thing sometime after dawn came, peeling herself quietly from the tent and extracting smooshed daisies from her hair as she went.

At the very least, a full night of disturbed sleep had served her better than a two-hour power nap. She felt tired, and ill-tempered, but slightly more like a functional elf than she had the day before.

She sat quietly in front of the extinguished campfire, watching the dawn colours spreading in the sky, trees rustling in what was shaping up to be quite a breezy day. She took the time to, very carefully, stretch and rotate the wrist and fingers of her bound hand, which was starting to swell unhappily, and was going a purplish colour around the bind. It hurt when she pressed her fingers against it, sore like a bruise, and went white and pale under the pressure of her fingertips. When she took the fingers away, the purplish colour swiftly returned. Uncertain whether it would help or not, she tried to massage some feeling into it, but it didn’t really seem to do anything except momentarily blanche its colour.

Rayla stared down at her hand, and wondered how long it would still be there.

She wondered how long she could hide it from the boys. It would probably be hard to avoid noticing if your travelling companion’s hand went purple and stopped working, right? The hand _falling off_ – that would be impossible to conceal. She should…probably talk about it. That would be a sensible thing to do. They had a long journey ahead of them and she likely shouldn’t expect to have two hands for more than a couple weeks of it, if this kept up. They should know about that. They should know she had a limited time left to be fully effective.

But…

She’d have to tell them what the binding was for. She’d have to tell them that she remained, even now, bound by oath and magic to kill Ezran. And while _she_ knew full well she’d much rather lose a hand than kill him…would _they_ know that? Ezran had an unusual amount of faith in her, maybe, but Callum was less trusting. Would he doubt her?

…Would he ask about the second bind?

If he remembered that she’d had two ribbons, when they met – if _Ezran_ remembered – she shivered, dread curling in her throat at _that_ , more than anything else. Callum very obviously had an excellent memory for things he saw; expecting him to overlook the second one was foolish at absolute best.

How could she possibly tell them that their father was dead? That he was dead, and _her people_ had been responsible for it? She’d hardly known them a few days, but even so – how was she supposed to find the words for something like this? It would hurt them so badly. She _knew_ it would. Stars, but she didn’t want to do it.

She exhaled, heavily, and allowed herself a minute or so more to wallow in dread and uncertainty. But no more than that. There was work to be done, after all.

 

\---

 

Callum woke up before Ezran did, about an hour after Rayla had got herself up. It was good timing on his part, as she’d been considering going to wake them up soon, since she’d finished dismantling the campfire and clearing up after their dinner, and pretty much all that was left to do in the camp either involved her leaving to find food or waking the princes up so the tent could be packed.

She listened, half-attentive, to the sounds of shifting inside the tent, the elder prince yawning and muttering something that she couldn’t hear from this range. She wondered if he’d wake up his brother. In the end, all he did was stumble out of the tent, half tripping over the bags he’d apparently forgotten were there.

He had also fallen asleep in his flower crown, and had bits of it streaked through his hair. She huffed at him in amusement, and he finally seemed to notice her, half-way through pulling his boots on.

“Oh, morning, Rayla.” He greeted cheerfully, if a little awkwardly, and walked up to where she’d been sitting, settling onto the grass beside her. “Didn’t see you there for a second.”

She refrained from making a comment on his situational awareness and nodded back to him in greeting. “I’ve been up a while.” She said, in sort-of explanation, and then side-eyed him a little narrowly. “…Sleep alright?”

“Yeah, actually, being in a tent really helped.” He answered, apparently entirely oblivious to his own night-time restlessness, and didn’t seem to notice her half-glare at all. “How about you?”

She snorted. “Oh, _yeah_ , I slept _great._ ”

“So…you _didn’t_ sleep well?” he squinted at her.

Rayla crossed her arms. “What _ever_ would give you that impression, Callum?” She wasn’t actually annoyed with him, really, just a bit…grumpy. Just a wee bit ornery. She felt it was only right that he be aware of it.

He huffed, half-amused, half-concerned. “I know what sarcasm sounds like, you know.”

“How wonderful for you!” She said, clasping her hands as if duly impressed.

“Yes, actually, it is. So?” He prodded, raising his eyebrows at her. “Did something wake you up?”

“You could say that.” Rayla agreed, and he just waited, staring her down expectantly, until she elaborated: “You move a lot in your sleep.” It was satisfying to watch his composure immediately vanish, a light flush rising in his cheeks, a stammer blooming in his voice.

“O-oh really?” He squeaked, suddenly looking every part the teenage boy who’d been reminded he’d been sleeping next to a teenage…elf. “Er. Sorry?”

His reaction easily alleviated the prickle of her temper, and Rayla felt her good humour returning to her. He was funny to fluster and surprise, this one. She snickered, and reached out to pat him consolingly on the shoulder. “It’s okay. I’m pretty sure you hit yourself on my horns at one point, so I think I probably got even.”

Callum’s brows furrowed, and he raised a hand to press thoughtfully at two points on his arm, close to the elbow, one on the upper arm and one on the forearm. “I did wonder where these bruises came from.” He said ruefully, still a little pink. “Uh, we can try putting Ez in the middle tonight, maybe? Maybe he’s not as bad a kicker as he used to be.”

“You two are such stupidly heavy sleepers.” She sighed, shaking her head. “It’s fine. I’ll see how I get on tonight, and then consider changing things up. For now, we need to work on getting going for the day. I was going to go find some food, but wanted to wait for one of you to wake up first.”

“Oh, right, yeah.” Callum looked glad enough to leave the uncomfortable subject of his sleeper’s conduct behind, and chuckled nervously. “I am pretty hungry. Er, should I wake Ez?”

She considered him for a second. Considered talking to him. Considered talking about…difficult things. Things she really didn’t want to talk about. In the end, she couldn’t even think of making the words pass her lips, so she sighed, and looked away.

But there was something else to talk about. Something that had been nagging at her. Something that was easier than life and death and the binds that tied her to their taking. “I wanted to talk to you about food.” She announced, abruptly, because they were days into this journey now and the closest thing to a varied diet they’d had was a bit of greenery.

He blinked, startled. “Oh. Okay?”

She turned more fully to face him, leaning back on one hand. The non-swelling, non-bound one, of course. “Look. We’ve been eating nothing but fruit for days – and a couple of leaves last night, I guess. I don’t know much about humans. Are you _meant_ to only eat fruit? Is that…. _healthy_ for you? I got the impression – from what you said – that it’s not, but….what do I know?” Her face settled into something that felt like a confused frown, which was an accurate enough picture of her feelings on the matter.

“Uh….no. No, we’re definitely meant to eat more than fruit.” Callum admitted, after a few more seconds of being surprised at the subject. His shoulders settled a little as he, almost visibly, got himself into thinking-mode. “Normally, at the castle? We eat – bread. Vegetables. Fruit, too. Sweet things.” He sat for a second, clearly thinking through a list. “Eggs? Yeah, eggs. Milk and cheese. Meat, for most of us. Ez doesn’t eat meat a lot.”

Rayla nodded slowly at him, a little concerned. “And…do you need _all_ of that? Or just some of it? Because that sounds pretty much like the things elves eat, but for us, some of it’s more important than other parts.”

“I’m pretty sure some of it’s more important for humans too, but I don’t know a lot about that.” Callum admitted, and leaned forwards, concentrating. “Uh…parents always tell their kids to eat their vegetables? So that’s probably important. Bread is filling? And people always seem to say you should be eating meat when you’re exercising?”

Rayla, who had been raised on fairly strict dietary regimens to accompany her training, thought this sounded quite elf-like, on the whole, although they naturally didn’t have such a fixation with bread. “Meat is good if you’re building muscle or just being active.” She informed him, feeling a little better about the conversation now she’d been reassured that meat was a regular and normal thing that humans ate, and she wouldn’t get accused of being unusually bloodthirsty for endorsing it. She considered how to continue, and in the end just went for it. “I can hunt, and prepare meat. I’m used to it – I’ve been helping with it for months – so it’s easy. We can forage for berries and edible plants, but I’d feel a lot better about things if we were eating meat as well.”

Callum watched her for several seconds, brows lowering into a troubled frown. “Honestly, so would I. And not just because it tastes better than random forest green-stuff.” he said, after a second. “But – I mean, he doesn’t completely refuse it, especially if it’s a special occasion…but Ezran prefers not to eat meat. He…gets along well with animals, I guess. Doesn’t want to eat them.” He fidgeted with the tail of his scarf. “I _think_ he’d be alright with you hunting for us, and eating meat, but I’m not sure. He’s never _had_ to eat it if he doesn’t want to.”

She hummed, pensive. “Well, I’m not going to force him either, duh. But it would be better for him. There’s things you can replace meat with, but not much we can forage from random wilderness as we go.” She shrugged, and raised her hands outwards, in a sort of helpless _what can you do_ sort of gesture. “Maybe you can talk to him over the next couple days? Living on a berry-and-leaves diet is okay if it’s only for a week or two, but we’ve got a lot longer than that to go. I don’t want anyone getting sick.”

He rubbed the back of his neck under the scarf, as if it itched. “Yeah, I definitely can’t let my little brother get all…malnourished. Aunt Amaya would kill me. My _step-dad_ would kill me.”

Rayla winced a little at that. “…Yeah, let’s avoid that.” She agreed, and stood, stretching out her shoulders. “On that note, I’d best go looking for some breakfast. Maybe you should wake up Ez.” She picked up the food jars and the cooking pot, painstakingly rinsed in the detestable water of the river, and waited for Callum to get up.

“Should we try putting away the tent while you’re gone?” he asked, coming to a stand next to her. He still had squished daisies in his hair.

She considered him for a second, and shook her head. “Not the first time. You’d probably make a mess of it alone. Wait for me to get back and I’ll walk you through it.” After brief hesitation, she reached out and plucked one of the flowers from his hair, presenting it to him. “You should maybe use the hairbrush while I’m gone, though.” She offered a teasing smile.

He returned it, charmingly sheepish, but only for a second. Then he frowned. “Rayla, why is your hand going purple?”

She snatched it back in a hurry, posture going stiff. “….Slept on it funny,” She lied, badly, shuffling some of the jars over to it to help conceal its condition. “Don’t you worry, it’s – normal.” She turned tail and strode for the tent, heart beating with mild panic at the idea he might call her on her highly transparent excuse.

He didn’t, in the end, but she could practically feel the scepticism radiating off of him in waves. “…If you say so.” He said, at last, easy-going, and walked over with her.

She bent to shove the cooking pot into her bag, retrieving the hairbrush for Callum while she was at it, while he crawled into the inner tent with his boots held carefully outside, and shook his brother by the foot. Bait grumbled at them as Ezran stirred, and Rayla considered if there was anything else she should take to go foraging. Should she take a bag, just in case she found something bigger that was worth taking, like a patch of mushrooms?

“Morning, Ez.” Callum said, from next to her, a smile in his voice. “You doing okay?”

“Mm, yeah.” She heard a yawn, and a vaguely intelligible murmur. “Slept good.” Well, Rayla was the odd one out, then. What a surprise.

She poked her head in to greet him, wearing a smile of her own. “Morning, Ez.” She echoed his brother, and he smiled sleepily at her.

“Hi, Rayla.” He said, and yawned again. “I had another weird dream.” He expressed, rubbing his eyes. He shifted the dragon egg more solidly into his lap and yawned.

“Was it the hippo with taffy ears again?” Callum asked, grinning a little as Rayla withdrew to prepare to leave.

“No. It was different this time.” He answered, eyes oddly faraway. “I was somewhere....small. And dark. And safe. And there was a voice whispering something to me. My name? Except it wasn’t _my name,_ it was....” he frowned. “I can’t remember.” He raised this hands to rub at his eyes, still squinting, as if trying to uncover the detail of his dream from the edges of the tent.

“I’m off to get breakfast.” Rayla informed them both, and nodded at their farewells as she turned off.

First camps always took a while; both to set up and to take down. But this was really an uncomfortable amount of delay, so she’d have to do her best to be quick.

 

\---

 

Callum was honestly feeling pretty good that morning. He’d slept well – even if, apparently, he’d been a difficult tent-mate in the process – hadn’t walked enough the previous day to be achy, and today was probably going to just be some more easy boat-riding. Sure, Rayla probably wouldn’t enjoy the boat part at all, which was unfortunate, and she was hiding something about her hand – but he felt fairly optimistic as he and Ez packed up their stuff and waited for Rayla to get back. And then got bored waiting for Rayla to get back. And then – well, look, maybe it _hadn’t_ been an entirely smart idea to try using the one half of Claudia’s lightning spell he remembered when he didn’t know how spells worked, but-

The point was, he’d been optimistic enough on waking that it really just _figured_ he’d have a magic mishap before they’d even left the campsite. Because the universe just loved to punish optimism, apparently.

The next few hours didn’t really get any more fortunate. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Having called Rayla back from gathering early with his lightning-related difficulties, breakfast was decidedly light that day, and Rayla herself seemed pretty cranky as she directed he and Ez through the procedure of packing the tent away. It was late morning by the time they were ready to leave, piling their things into the boat, and Rayla staring at the boat like she’d rather swallow a live spider than go anywhere near it.

She did, though. As soon as she noticed him watching, in fact.

He and Ez teamed up to try to distract her from the water. Callum regaled her with the origins of Bait’s name. Ezran cajoled her into a word-association game. She didn’t seem especially enthusiastic about any of it, too occupied with trying not to lose her meagre breakfast, but, well. Any enthusiasm she _had_ mustered was promptly extinguished when Callum put his foot in what had been a perfectly pleasant round of questions…by accidentally bringing up dead parents. So that was awkward. And she was unwilling enough to engage after that that he just sort of…left her to it, and went to paddle a bit at the front of the boat.

A couple hours down the river, Callum realised that, perhaps, the maps he’d partially-memorised in his lessons were not designed for people travelling along them in rowboats. Namely, because the river had transformed into rapids, and looked to be approaching at least one waterfall, and-

Needless to say, the two waterfalls, a capsized boat, a lake monster, a thoroughly terrifying dip in the same water that the lake monster occupied, and a narrow-escape from the lake monster…all added up to a less-than-pleasant experience. Even if it did conclude in a surprisingly illuminating heartfelt conversation about fear, and bravery, and the weight that Rayla’s parents had put on her shoulders when they fled their duty.

By mutual decision, they stopped by the shore of Lake Kalsa for a break after that, as everything they owned had been doused in lakewater. Rayla went off to look for lunch, with Callum and Ezran deputised to help get their stuff a bit less waterlogged. So they pulled the boat over, thankful that they’d stored the bags under the seats where they’d been prevented from falling out, and pulled everything onto shore.

“The tent is completely soaked.” Ezran said, making a face, as he opened the pack they’d meticulously stored just a few hours ago. “No way is this going to be dry in time for tonight.”

“Maybe we’ll just have to sleep out in the open for a night.” Callum shrugged, raising his hand briefly. “At least it’s windy today. Maybe if we hang it all up wherever we camp, it’ll be dry by morning.”

“Yeah, but it being windy means we’ll be cold tonight.” He sighed, putting the tent aside. “Let’s just try to dry off the other stuff. Like the towel. It seems weird for a thing that’s meant to dry things to be full of water.”

“We should at least try to squeeze out the tent a bit. So it’s not completely soaking.” He countered, and waved his brother over. “I’ll work on the tent, okay? You get all the other stuff out.”

“Yeah, sure.” Ezran agreed, and they set themselves to work.

Rayla returned probably half an hour later, with jars absolutely packed full of Moonberries and…some other sort of berry he wasn’t completely familiar with. Looked sort of like miniature blackberries. Ezran abandoned his bag immediately to make a beeline for one jar, Bait hopping eagerly at his heels. “How’s it going?” She asked, setting the jars down, and holding a hand – the going-purple one _–_ up to feel at the inner-tent he’d hung on a tree branch. She grimaced. “…Well, _that’s_ not going to dry for a while.”

“We’ve got everything laid out now….though maybe we went a bit overboard.” Callum said, eyeing her hand for a few seconds. She caught his eye, followed his gaze, and quickly snatched her hand back, breaking eye contact in a second. Because that wasn’t suspicious at all. He didn’t say anything, but made a face at her. “…It’ll take a while to pack everything up again.” He elaborated, after a second, and went over to investigate the lunch possibilities, sitting down next to Ezran.

“I was thinking about that, actually.” Rayla said, a little too-brightly, as if trying to brush past the issue of whatever it was she was hiding. “You said the lake town sits on a major road, right? How long do you suppose it would take us to get to that road?”

“Er.” Callum stopped, reached for his mercifully-waterproof book, and flipped through the wet pages carefully to the map. “If we try to go along the Lune a bit longer, and then get off the boat and walk… _probably_ around three to six hours ish?” He made an uncertain noise. “I’m not great at judging the distances yet. If we left from here and walked to the road, we could probably get there in…four hours? I think? Maybe?”

“Hmm.” Rayla inspected his map, weird hand tucked somewhat conspicuously behind her back.

“What are you thinking?” Ez asked, words a bit mushy and slurred around his mouthful of mystery berries.

“I’m thinking…” She sat back, thoughtful. “…that if we keep going today, we’ll have to camp close to the road, since we need to cross over that road a safe distance from any towns. And I _really_ don’t want to camp close to that road.”

Ezran blinked curiously at her. “Because Aunt Amaya might be coming through?”

“Or any other humans going close to the roads.” Rayla pointed out. “But…yes. Mostly your _Aunt Amaya.”_ She clearly hadn’t gotten over the General Aunt Amaya thing yet. “I don’t like the delay, but after all that mess with the lake monster – I was thinking we could just stop here for the day. Unless you think there’ll be people here later?”

“Nah, Lake Kalsa is up-river from Kalsanis, and too far to walk to in less than half a day, I think.” Callum put his book aside, left open, to allow it to dry a little. “I guess it’s possible people could show up, but it would be kinda weird.”

Rayla considered it for a good while, eyes narrowed. She considered it for long enough, in fact, that Callum decided to get started on lunch, picking out one of the mystery berries to sniff at it. It did not smell like a blackberry, but smelled good enough.

“What are these called, anyway?”

“Hm? Oh, the fruit. Mulberries.” She answered, half on automatic, and looked up, sighing. “Yeah, I think we’ll risk staying here. See if we can get some stuff done, if we’re going to waste an afternoon.”

Callum, his mouth full of berries, waved at her with a sort of circular motion to continue. For a half-second he wished she knew sign, to make this very brief second of his life easier to communicate in.

She squinted dubiously at him but seemed to pick up his meaning. “We need to get the stuff dry, to start with.” She said, waving her hands at the many things currently hanging on trees. “You could try using your wind breath spell on them, maybe. Get the magic out of your system so you don’t electrocute anything else today.”

He swallowed his mouthful, holding up a finger to maintain a pause, then said “today’s second electrocution went very well, in my opinion. But yes! Magic sounds good!” Any excuse to practice magic was a good one, as far as he was concerned. “Anything else?”

Rayla hesitated. Just for a second, but it was enough to make him tilt his head, curious and a little more alert. “…Well, that big lake monster wasn’t the only thing you shocked. Have you looked at the water lately?”

Ez turned to look first, Callum not far behind him. “Uh.”

“Are those fish?” Ezran asked, squinting at the same small floating shapes on the lake’s surface that Callum was staring at. “Callum, did you zap the _whole lake?_ ”

“It’s lightning! In water! It kind of – does that!” he defended, crossing his arms. “It was necessary!”

“ _And,_ it might have got us dinner.” Rayla pointed out. “I wouldn’t want to try eating the lake monster, maybe, but there’s got to be _some_ dead fish out there worth eating.” She hesitated again, and this time Callum understood why. “…if you don’t mind, I don’t really want to be the one who fetches those dead fish, if you catch my drift.”

“Ohhh, yeah, I guess you probably don’t like water any more than before, after all that.” Ez said wisely, nodding, and turned his head to the lake again, a hint of his _planning-things_ look coming onto his face. Callum watched it warily. Sometimes, when Ezran looked like that, it was something perfectly benign. Other times, it ended with innocent older brothers having to pick crumbs out of their bed and clothing for weeks.

“ _That_ would be an understatement.” Rayla said, while Callum was still waiting for Ezran to do something, since he was clearly thinking of _something._

“…Good job it’s not too cold today!” Ez declared, after a second, the spark in his eye turned into solid cheer. “Callum, we should go for a swim!”

Oh. Well, that was a whole lot less mischief than Callum had worried about. He’d been half-concerned that Ezran was going to challenge him to a fish-fight, or something. He inspected the water, trying to recall the temperature of it. It had been a shock to fall in after being in the boat for hours, but…it was spring, and these were the Katolis lowlands. The temperature was pretty mild. “Sounds good.” He decided, rising to his feet. “C’mon Ez, we should go now, so we’ll dry off faster.” He pulled off his scarf, still-drying, and laid it out next to the rest of the still-drying things.

Rayla rose up next to him, both hands up as if to forestall his movement, looking suddenly very alarmed. “Wait, you’re going to _swim?_ I just meant – you should go out with the boat!” Had her hand been that purple this morning?

“…That would get us less soaked, true.” Callum allowed, after a moment, feeling vaguely put-out. Rayla’s shoulders relaxed a little with relief, hands dropping.

Ezran, however, was unmoved. “Well, you can take the boat if you want, Callum, but I wanna swim. It’s a nice day and a nice lake.” Rayla’s borderline-panic instantly returned.

“You want to _go swimming_ in a lake that had a giant fish monster in it?” She demanded, incredulous, rearing back as if she thought his brother’s insanity might be contagious. “That seems like a great way to get _eaten_!”

“ _No way_ a lake this small has more than one giant monster in it. Giant monsters like their space, you know.” Ezran told her, not even remotely concerned, and stood, sweeping grass from his pants. “Callum, are you taking the boat? If you are, I can just throw you fish.”

He hesitated. “You can rest if you get tired, too, I guess, if the boat is there.” He allowed, after a second. He, too, didn’t think it was likely they’d find another lake monster in residence. Kalsa wasn’t especially big, after all. “I might like to go for a swim though, if we’re going to be here all day. It’s not like we’ll have much time for that sort of thing once we start walking.”

Rayla stared at them, a little open-mouthed, as if in complete disbelief. She couldn’t seem to find the words to object for several seconds, then finally managed it. “So you’re going to go swimming. Because you think it’s _fun._ On the off-chance that giant lake monsters don’t come in groups.” She summarised, her eyes wide with apprehension, and voice a little higher than was usual for her.

“Sounds about right.” Callum agreed, after a moment, offering a smile. “Relax. It’ll be fine. We’re both decent swimmers, and we’ll have the boat there in case any more monsters show up.”

“And I am very confident that there’s no more lake monsters.” Ezran added.

Callum blinked, but decided to go with it. “See, he’s very confident that there’s no more monsters.”

“And you’re an expert on giant lake monsters now, are you?” Rayla demanded, folding her arms, the initial panic and disbelief now steadily giving way to an expression that…actually looked kind of worried. Aw, he didn’t want to actually _worry_ or _scare_ her, that wasn’t good.

“Pretty much.” Ez said cheerfully, glancing up at a nearby tree. Callum followed his gaze, but all he saw was a squirrel.

Callum hesitated, and stepped forward, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Look, Rayla, if it makes you feel better – how about me and Ezran both go out in the boat to start with? And if nothing attacks us, we’ll swim later.”

She eyed him mulishly. He tried to look as earnest and reasonable as possible, and beside him, Ezran put on his best pleading-face, well-honed by years of sneaking jelly tarts past the town baker. She stared at them for several long seconds, visibly reluctant, then finally relented. “…Alright. But you take your magic cube with you.” She said, begrudgingly, darting to the side to pick up the cube in question from the ground. “And keep a close eye on it. Deal?”

“Deal!” Both of them chorused, sharing a discreet low-five, and Ezran shot off like an arrow towards the boat they’d dragged onto the lakeshore. Callum followed at a more sedate pace, pausing to pull off his gloves and jacket and toss them on the grass. He would rather not get his clothes all fishy, all things considered.

Together, they pushed the boat out and then climbed into it, paddling companionably towards the hulking island of the dead lake monster, surrounded by smaller bobbing fish corpses. After a fair bit of trial-and-error, they discovered that it was actually not all that easy to reach all the way to the water level from the side of the boat, so Ezran went partially over the side while Callum held him by the legs, his brother throwing fish over his shoulder and occasionally hitting him in the face with them. Some of the fish were smaller, some larger, but there were in general quite a lot of them. Apparently, a lightning spell channelled directly into water caused a lot of damage. He should probably keep that in mind. It seemed like the sort of thing that could come back to bite him if he didn’t.

“This is way too many fish.” Ez said, after he finally tired of hanging over the edge and grabbing dinner. “We’ll never eat it all.”

“We can probably eat some tomorrow?” He suggested, stepping carefully around the new floor of fish to return to the oars. His hands and arms were _covered_ with fish slime and fish scales, making him very glad he’d shed the jacket and gloves. “I mean, they shouldn’t go bad overnight, right?”

“I have no idea how fast fish goes bad.” His brother shrugged, and peered over at the shore. “…I think we should go back now. Rayla looks worried.”

Callum looked over and saw that she was, indeed, watching from the shore, shoulders slightly hunched, holding Bait under one arm and her other hand resting within grabbing-range of a weapon. He hummed agreeably, and together they set about returning to shore.

“We have _so much dinner,_ ” Ezran announced to her once they hit the silty beach, watching her posture loosen a bit as they arrived back.

She peered warily into the boat. “…I can see that.”

“No lake monsters either, as you may have noticed.”

“…Yes, in fact, I did notice.”

“So, it should be perfectly safe to go swimming, right?”

Rayla stared at them, plainly both unimpressed and uncomfortable, but also very obviously not immune to begging and wheedling. “… _Fine,_ whatever, if you want to go splash about in a lake, _be my guest,_ ” She huffed, waving both arms towards the water. “But don’t take too long! There’s a lot to get done today, and if you think I’m doing it all alone, _think again._ ”

“That sounds fair.” Callum said immediately, Ezran nodding rapidly beside him.

“Ugh.” Rayla offered, as her final opinion on the matter, and turned to storm up the shore.

Callum’s attention was pulled away when, abruptly, his brother slapped him on the forearm and declared “last one in the lake has to eat dirt!” and dashed to the water’s edge to start rapidly disrobing.

“Wha- hey!” he protested, and chased after him, shedding clothing as he went. After all, Callum had done worse things as challenge-forfeits with his brother than eating dirt, but that didn’t mean he was going to stand by and _lose._ It was the principle of the thing.

They scrambled along the lakeshore, leaving a trail of boots and assorted vestments in their wake.

 

\---

 

Rayla wasn’t sure what she’d done to get stuck with a couple of humans who thought water was fun, but it was _really annoying._

She picked through all the drying belongings of the camp until she found the washrag, and took that and one of her weapons back down the lakeshore to the boat, shaking her head at the clothes that the princes had strewn haphazardly all over the place. They were going to be _covered_ in dirt and silt when they tried to put them on again, but did they care? No, they just wanted to go _swimming._ She could hear them _splashing about_ and _cheering at each other_ and it was just – irritating. Very irritating. That was all, it was just annoying.

She hadn’t been lying when she said there was a lot to do. For one thing – who did they think was going to clean and prepare all those fish? Fish didn’t come magically gutted and ready to cook, and she suspected that was yet another thing that pampered human princes might not have quite realised.

A little vengefully, Rayla resolved to leave enough fish left over to make Callum learn how to clean them. Partially so she wouldn’t have to do it all, partially just to gross him out a bit. If he had time to waste swimming, he had time to spend doing gross necessary things. Like gutting fish.

She stiffened at the sound of some particularly vigorous splashing and a high-pitched shriek. _They’re just messing about,_ she told herself, firmly, eyes on the boat full of fish she was meant to be working on. _They’re having fun. They’re fine._ She didn’t need to watch them. She didn’t need to supervise them. There weren’t any lake monsters and they knew how to swim and they were _fine._ They weren’t going to drown. She didn’t need to guard them. She _had a job to do._

Teeth gritted, she climbed into the boat and started tossing fish overboard onto the lakeshore, one by one. She tensed and flinched at every water-sound the princes made – every splash, every shriek and yell the two of them made as they did whatever-it-was people who liked water did when they swam. She _did not like water_ and didn’t like them being in it out of her eyesight but _they were fine,_ it was fine, she should just…go deal with fish, somewhere up the shore where she didn’t have to be close to water, or to people messing about in water.

But…there wasn’t really any reason why she couldn’t just clean out the fish next to the boat. That way she didn’t have to carry fish up the shore, and she could wash away the guts easily. It would be more convenient. Supervising the humans could just be…a convenient side effect.

She took a deep breath, easing into a controlled rhythm of inhalation and exhalation like Runaan had tried so hard to teach her. She’d never been much for meditation, but the breathing tricks were handy sometimes. She ignored the way her stomach tightened at the sight of the deep water of the lake, so close by, and settled next to the pile of fish she’d made to start working.

Her blades weren’t exactly filleting knives, but they worked perfectly well if she held them right. She grabbed a lake trout with her bad hand and sliced carefully down its belly with the sword held in the other, excising a blob of gloopy viscera with a deft flick of the sword-tip. She worked at it for a minute, carefully not looking at the lake, and set it aside when it was done. Then, finally, she allowed herself to glance upwards to check on the princes. Just to satisfy the anxiety that the thought of them in the water provoked.

They were having a splash-fight. Of course they were. That would explain all the annoyingly-cheerful yelling.

She sighed, deeply, and reached for a second fish.

Rayla cleaned and set aside ten trout and one toothy pike before she decided enough was enough, and stood to cup her hands loosely around her mouth and yell. “Oi! You lot! You’ve had your fun, now get out of there and dry off!” She watched impatiently as Callum, previously vanished beneath the surface of the water, re-appeared at her call, floating beside Ezran.

The noises she received back sounded like _“aww,”_ but they were sort of cheerful and agreeable-sounding, rather than actually disappointed. Evidently, the crazy blighters had enjoyed their brief stint in the water. They must be mad. Absolutely mad. Completely bonkers. But at least they were swimming up to shore to be crazy on solid land, now. She rolled her eyes and rinsed fish guts from her hands, shaking off the droplets of water as she rose to wait for them to arrive.

Ezran, evidently a more enthusiastic swimmer, came ashore first, stepping gradually out of the shallows with Callum a couple of metres behind him.

“You didn’t exactly leave your clothes in a good place, you know.” She greeted the littlest prince with, hands on her hips as he emerged from the shallows, hair dribbling lakewater down his back.

“What do you – oh.” Ezran, who had stripped down to underpants to go swimming, lifted up the trousers he’d abandoned at the lakeshore, now gratuitously coated in silt. “Um, you might have a point.”

“A point about what?” Callum asked, stepping up beside him in a similar state of undress. Rayla blinked, then jerked her chin in the direction of all the abandoned clothing, a sort of flustered heat prickling insistently at her face.

“You’ve got grit all over your stuff. You might as well go back into the water and rinse it off before you dry off.” She informed him, pointing.

“…Ah. Hah.” Callum’s eyes followed her gesture to where his own clothes were, and he laughed sheepishly. “I guess it’s laundry day, then. C’mon Ez, let’s get this done quickly, alright?” He stepped over to pick up his things, and after a moment, Ezran followed his lead.

“What are we going to wear while this all dries, though?”

“Our slightly less-wet stuff up by the bags, I guess?”

And so they splashed back into the lake less than a few minutes after they’d left it, dragging their clothing through the water. They hadn’t even thought to consider going to look for the bar of soap (which had, in fact, reduced somewhat in size through its immersion in water). They really didn’t have a practical bone in their bodies.

Rayla sighed, shaking her head ruefully. She had a lot to teach these dumb humans.

She headed up the shore to grab the soap and returned to the water’s edge with it, waving it in the air. “You _might_ want to use soap, if you’re doing your laundry.” She called to them, and waited for them to look over. Callum came tromping through the shallows to retrieve it from her, his various pieces of clothing slung over his bare arms and shoulders. “ _Don’t_ drop it. Or you’ll never find it again, and then we won’t have any soap all the way to Xadia.”

It nearly slid from his grasp that very second, slippery with the water on his hands, and he giggled nervously. “….I’ll do my best?” He offered, and turned to run back into the water, nearly falling over in the process. Honestly.

It might have been sensible for her to join in with the laundering, but frankly she was so very, very _done_ with water today. If she never had to look at a water source again, it would be too soon. She sighed, gathering the cleaned fish into the washrag, and headed up the shore with a half-hearted hope that the boys wouldn’t lose their only bar of soap. She poked at the inner-tent, on her way past, and found it still really quite damp. Hopefully some sky magic would help it along. She set the fish down on a patch of grass around where she was planning to put the campfire, and then returned to shore again, waiting for the princes to finish.

They had not, she noted, lost the soap. They did speed up, seeing her waiting there watchfully, and shortly were stomping out of the lake with soaking-wet clothes. She rolled her eyes and took the soap back, telling them “Wring out your stuff and set it drying somewhere. We’ve got work to do.” She waved them off to follow her bidding and, five minutes later, they reported for duty. Still dripping from the hair and almost entirely unclothed, but they’d dry off soon enough. “Right then. Ezran, you’re on firewood. Get sticks, fallen branches, leaves – the drier the better. Make a pile nearby, alright? We’ve got lots to cook today.”

He grinned, looking far more excited than menial camp chores should warrant. Clearly the shine hadn’t worn off yet. “Yes, ma’am!” he chirped, and scampered off to inspect the roots of the nearest tree.

“Don’t go too far, alright?” She called after him, then turned to Callum, who was starting to look like he regretted being largely unclothed in the brisk breeze. “And _you,_ ” She pronounced, reaching to her side to hand him her other blade, “are going to learn how to clean fish.”

He took it, blinking at it with a singularly befuddled expression for a second, turning it over in his hand. “I am? Great!” He said, distractedly, as if he’d not actually heard her. He inspected her sheathed weapon, turning it this way and that, and looked about two seconds away from cutting his fingers off whenever he figured out how to open it, so she snatched it back to demonstrate, slowly, how it was meant to be done.

“Like this.” She showed him, smirking a little. It was kind of funny, really, how clueless he and his brother were about things she’d pretty much been raised on. Well, they’d learn. She closed the weapon again and handed it back to him to try.

Cautiously, he mimicked her, and successfully unsheathed one of her weapons by himself, albeit clumsily. A delighted grin spread over his face, as if something as small as opening a weapon were enough to please him. “Cool.” He pronounced, now turning the blade every which way to inspect it. “Magic weapons, huh?”

“Yep. And all we have for preparing food with, incidentally.” She said, and reached out to shove him gently by the shoulder towards the pile of fish. His skin was still slippery with lakewater, and very exceedingly bare. “Come on, you. It’s about time you learned something useful.”

“What, and my half-a-lightning-spell doesn’t count?” He demanded, still grinning, as he allowed himself to be led over.

“Something useful that’s less likely to electrocute bystanders.” She rolled her eyes, smiling tolerantly back at him, and sat him down by the fish. “Right then. Watch how I do it, alright?” She took a fish and walked him through the process. He made faces at the guts, but didn’t look away or have to take a vomit break, and stayed attentive and interested. She wondered if he’d have the same alacrity the first time he saw a bird or mammal being gutted. She sort of doubted it. That sort of viscera took more getting used to.

“That was somehow simpler than I was expecting.” He said, after she’d finished, holding her blade gingerly in his lap.

“Fish are easy. Much easier than animals.” She said, and tilted her head. “Ready to try? Or do you want to see it again?”

He considered it for a second, inspecting her and then the pile of fish. He reached out to take one and inspected it, fingers of his other hand twitching on the handle of her blade. “I’ll try.” He decided, suddenly determined, and leaned forwards to make his attempt. She sat back on her heels and watched, steadfastly ignoring his state of undress.

Most of his awkwardness seemed to come from not quite knowing how to hold the blade, which was fair enough. But he clearly remembered what to do well enough. His first attempt was a bit messy, and he grimaced at the fish guts, but he did a perfectly serviceable job of it. He glanced up at her. “That okay?”

She offered him a smile. “Not bad at all.” She said, and nodded to the pile. “I’ll stick around to watch you do a couple more, but I think you’ve got this.”

He looked pleased enough at that, just that small praise, that his entire face seemed to brighten. Rayla found herself drawing back a little, as if to put space between them, and wasn’t sure why. They weren’t sitting _that_ close, after all. Callum didn’t seem to notice – he was already reaching for his next fish – but Rayla…she shook herself out of the momentary strangeness and supervised her companion’s progress, as she was meant to.

He was neater on the second attempt, and approaching quick on the third. At that point she nodded approvingly, said “Well, seems you’re doing fine. I’ll leave you to finish the rest, alright?”

He blinked at her, his previous mask of concentration lapsing under his lopsided smile. “Sure. I’ll try not to take too long.”

She reached out and patted him encouragingly on the arm. His skin felt fairly cold, and mostly dry – he should probably look to getting dressed once he was done, or he’d catch a chill. “Take your time. Try not to cut off any fingers.”

Callum laughed, only a little nervously. “I will...try not to do that, yeah.” he agreed, turning after a moment to reach for the next fish. Rayla gathered up the ones he’d done and took them over to where she’d piled the rest. Ezran had, throughout her observation of Callum’s fish-gutting, been doing his job; there was now a modest pile of firewood on the shore, and she could see the kid scampering about the treeline about fifteen metres along the lake, still happily at work.

Both princes seemed perfectly happy to help and learn, at least, even if they had no useful experience whatsoever. It was a hopeful sign.

Rayla gathered up a pile of branches and set about building the fire. There was a lot of fish to cook.

 

\---

 

All things told, Callum’s day seemed to be making a turn for the better, now that they’d stopped to do camp-things. His memory served him well in following Rayla’s tuition, and although he made a misstep here or there with the rest of the fish, all that meant was that some intestines spilled and he had to do a bit more cleaning of gross stuff before he finished.

Rayla was already situated at a cheerful campfire and arranging fish speared on sticks all around it when he carried the rest of the catch over to her. Once he was upright the wind was a lot harder to ignore, and he shivered, crouching to deposit the fish where she’d put the others, and putting her sheathed blade carefully at her side. “That should be all of it.” he said, settling for a moment beside her to observe the cooking. It already smelled good – really good. After days of berries and a couple of leaves, the savoury smell of the cooking fish made his mouth start watering pretty much at the first whiff.

“Thanks.” She said, a little distractedly, as she was currently trying to spear a fish-bearing stick into the ground, but the stick was giving way instead of the ground. She huffed, stabbed the ground with one of her blades, and put the stick into the furrow it left. She looked at him, nodding approvingly as she observed the fish he’d deposited at her side. “Any problems?”

“Eh, I made something nasty spill out a couple of times, but that’s it.” He smiled crookedly. “Managed not to cut off any fingers.” he waggled them at her.

She huffed a laugh, and reached out to take her blade back, hanging it back near the underside of her jacket-thing. “Well done.” She congratulated him, amused, and waggled her own fingers back at him, two fewer than his own. He tried not to frown at the increasingly-purple left hand. “Ready for another job?”

He straightened, as much as he could when half-kneeling next to a campfire. Its warmth was welcome, given the increasing chill of the breeze. “Sure?”

Rayla pointed to the various belongings hanging on trees, swaying in the breeze. “See if you can dry the tent. And try not to blow the camp away while you’re doing it.”

“Oh yeah! He remembered. “Right, I was meant to be doing that. I'll just-” He stood, and had stepped half towards the hanging inner-tent before a fresh gust of wind reminded him that he was still wearing almost nothing. “...Maybe I’ll get dressed first.”

 

\---

 

Somewhat more than an hour later, Callum had increased his number of spells cast by pretty much a factor of twenty, and had only _slightly_ blown the camp away in the process, and only put a campfire out once. His own still-damp clothes became steadily drier in the process, and his hair more profoundly windblown. After a while Ezran finished making his firewood pile and sat nearby to watch his brother blow magic air around, dragon egg in his lap and Bait atop the dragon egg. By the twelfth iteration of the spell he’d started making silly suggestions, like asking Callum to belch out the spell’s air instead of exhaling it. As yet, Callum had declined to try any of these suggestions.

It was, maybe, pretty repetitive, casting _aspiro_ over and over and over again, while standing on or weighing down whatever he was trying to dry, lest he blow their stuff halfway through the forest again. But Callum could not, in the least, ever imagine being bored with it.

He drew the rune over and over again, each time feeling that prickle of energy in his finger just before he tapped his finger forwards to draw magic into the air. He could never grow tired of it – of reaching out and drawing light into the sky, watching it pulse with energy and the first eager trickles of wind before he spoke to release it, feeling his breath taken and amplified by the magic into something so much more powerful. The primal stone tingled against his skin, heavy in his hand, almost as if the brimming energy inside approved of the outlet he was opening for it.

 _Aspiro._ There was something really interesting, about that moment that his finger went from simply moving to _drawing,_ shaping his will into the magic of the air. It was a maddeningly evasive thing – so hard to put words to – like a tiny, transient tickle of sensation. Like when he moved his finger forwards to draw the rune, he touched something. Just the faintest, strangest flicker of something...like the slightest hint of colder air, maybe. Or the feeling of touching metal in the day before a storm, but so much gentler. Or, really, he could compare it in feeling to the second of potential that separated his charcoal from the paper he drew upon. It was similar.

 _Aspiro._ He cast it, again and again, never tiring of it. Never failing to find something else to notice. It was _his breath_ that went into the spell – not his power, maybe, because _that_ all came from the primal stone, but – it was his breath, his air, that he exhaled out into the magic. It needed _him_ to take form. He tried holding that breath in, once, and felt the magic build into a gusty agitation that started spiralling out of the unfulfilled rune, almost like the sparks from the unfinished lightning spell. Even though he’d already said the word that should have finished the spell – it needed _his_ breath. There was something really cool about that. All the power of a storm, and it needed him to take form.

That time, when he exhaled, the air left him almost too-fast, like the spell leapt down his throat to cling to the back of his breath. The windstorm that gusted out of him was more violent, after that, and not quite as neatly funnel-shaped.

He reached out to draw the rune again, and wondered what would happen if he drew it smaller. Would it make any difference? Would drawing it bigger make any difference? If he changed the shape, just a tiny bit, what would it do to the spell?

He drew it smaller, just to test that. The spell came out just as strong as the other dozen or so times. Huh.

He drew it bigger. Still, basically the same. Size didn’t matter, apparently.

He hesitated at trying to change the shape, though. That seemed like something that would _have_ to make a difference, and he probably shouldn’t experiment with that when the camp was at stake if something went wrong. One magical accident was more than enough for one day, thank you very much.

Instead, he set about finding out if the volume he said _aspiro_ at made any difference.

(It didn’t. But it did bring up the very interesting question of whether it was possible to cast a spell without actually saying anything.)

He was down to whispering the spell, which still seemed to be working fine, and raising his hand to draw the rune again for another, quieter try, when-

“Have you actually stopped to feel the cloak for the last five spells?” Rayla said, from directly behind him, and he jumped badly enough that he nearly dropped the primal stone, fumbling with it for several seconds before managing to catch and secure it properly. She didn’t quite manage to hide her tiny smirk before he turned around, armed with a primal stone and a half-hearted glare.

“You do that on purpose.” He complained, Ezran snickering at him from the side. Ezran, who had not warned him that she was sneaking up on him.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Rayla lied brightly, leaning over to pat at the cloak-bedroll he’d been drying for…possibly more spells than necessary. “And, I think you’ve overdone this one a bit. It’s dry as paper.”

“…Good for you, I guess, since I think that one’s yours.” He said ruefully, and took his boot off the edge of it to allow her to scoop it up. She felt along its length, humming approvingly, and rolled it up while she inspected the rest of the stuff.

She eyed the inner and outer layers of the tent, now dry and folded nearby. “Well, you didn’t lose the tent again, at least.” She commented.

“That was _one time._ ”

“At least the tent is dry now, so we don’t need to sleep outside.” Ezran put in, leaning back. “And the egg likes all this sky magic. Look at it glow!”

They all collectively took a moment to inspect the egg. It was, indeed, glowing more brightly than typical, casting a large portion of Ezran’s clothes in bluish light.

“…Do you suppose sky dragon eggs are supposed to be near sky magic?” Callum wondered, stepping over to linger near his brother, staring down at the enormous egg. “I mean, maybe it always used to be this bright, but then it was locked up in our castle for months.”

Ezran peered at the egg’s shell with sudden concentration. “…I bet his parents gave him all the magic he needed.” He said, with that odd certainty he had sometimes. “And now Callum can give him magic until we get him back to Xadia.”

Rayla muffled a snicker, and patted Callum on the back. “Well, congratulations on becoming a dragon-parent, Callum. “ She told him, and then nodded her head back towards the hanging tent bits. “Anyway. I originally came over here to check on how you were doing, but if the tent is dry – mind coming over to set it up? The sun will be going down soon.”

“What, already?” He looked up, and…yeah, the sky was looking late-afternoon-ish. “Huh.”

“Can I help?” Ezran asked eagerly, standing up at once, Bait falling off the egg as soon as he moved, and landing with a soft _thump_ and a displeased croak.

“The more the merrier.” She answered decisively, and led them all off to help with this vaguely-familiar element of camp-craft.

 

\---

 

“What’s wrong with your hand?” Asked Ezran, at one point when they were pitching the tent, and…well, Rayla had sort of been waiting for him to notice. Callum had certainly noticed, after all, and had been sending her _looks_ about it all day. He’d not asked again after the first time, though, even though he clearly wanted to. She’d appreciated that, even though every look made her stomach churn – but Ez was bound to notice it eventually, too. Of course he’d ask.

She stilled, half way through feeding the tent poles through, and forced a smile. “…Not important right now.” She prevaricated, eventually, and kept on at her task. Even though the stiffness of her increasingly sore hand made it harder. _Everything_ she’d done with her hand today hurt, really, even if it wasn’t really bad yet. _‘Yet’_ being the operative word here.

Ezran didn’t seem satisfied with that answer, and Callum was watching interestedly from his position feeding his own tent pole through, waiting to see what she’d say. “Rayla, your hand is _purple._ ” The younger prince pointed out, brow furrowing at her, and the two sets of eyes prickled at her.

Discomfort, with an edge of panic, flared in her chest. She bristled, and ducked her head down, eyes fixed stubbornly on the tent. “Not important right now.” She repeated, with a harder edge to the words. She pushed the pole through perhaps more violently than necessary, and reached for the next one.

“But, Rayla-“

“ _Leave it,_ Ezran.” She snapped, and then immediately felt guilty. Still, though, she didn’t raise her head or attempt to capitulate; she hunched her shoulders and kept working. She could almost feel Callum’s unimpressed stare on her.

The sound of rustling from where Ezran sat. “O- _kay._ Fine.” He said, in the somewhat transparent tones of someone who was a little upset but pretending to be annoyed instead. “…I’m going to go top up the campfire.” He announced, and did exactly that, the sounds of his footsteps stomping away.

The silence when he’d gone felt distinctly accusative. Rayla’s shoulders hunched higher.

After a few more seconds, she couldn’t even keep up the pretence of continuing to work. She chanced a glance upwards, at where Callum sat on the opposite side of the outer-tent, and flinched slightly at the look he was giving her. Not quite properly annoyed, maybe, but definitely miffed.

“…You didn’t have to snap at him, you know.” He said to her, the slightest edge in his voice.

She looked away, feeling worse by the second. “…I know.” She admitted, right hand settling over her left, as if to hide it from view.

“You could just say you don’t want to talk about it. He’d understand that.”

“ _I know.”_ She bit back the ire in the words as best she could, not wanting to end up snapping at him too. She exhaled. “I just…” She trailed off, not sure what to say. The bind was tight around her wrist. The skin of her swollen hand prickled and tingled and ached. She looked up again, hesitant, and found him still staring, arms folded, expression somewhat stony. “…I’ll apologise. When he’s back.” She said, eyes returning determinedly to the tent fabric. She set back to the task at hand, half-watching Callum’s reaction from the corners of her vision.

He settled, somewhat, from the mild protective tension she’d unwittingly provoked in him. “Well, good.” He said lamely, as if not knowing quite what else to say, and allowed his arms to loosen. “Let’s just get this tent done, alright?”

“…Yeah.”

The quiet as they finished up the necessarily two-person part of the tent-pitching was not entirely comfortable, but not tense either. He’d apparently taken her promise of apology at face value, and was as agreeable as ever to her directives on what to do with the tent. They had it up in short order, now needing only the inner-tent and the tent pegs to be fully assembled. Ezran, meanwhile, had returned to the campfire with an armful of twigs, and was sullenly tossing them on, one-by-one.

“I’ll try to sort out the inner tent.” Callum suggested, in a fairly transparent effort to get her to go over to his brother. She gave him a look, but didn’t argue, waving him in the direction of the hanging fabric in wordless agreement. She needed to check on the latest batch of fish, anyway.

She crossed the relatively short distance to the fire in five brisk strides, ignoring the temptation to delay it by walking slower. She was not great at apologies. She was not great at difficult conversations, in general. But Ez was a good kid and she didn’t want to upset him.

Ezran, for his part, clearly noticed her approach, but nonchalantly kept poking at his firewood pile as if completely unconcerned. “Hi, Rayla.” He said, almost airily, as if nothing had happened, but he didn’t so much as look her way.

She crouched beside him, and took a deep breath. “Look, Ez, I’m sorry for snapping at you.” She said, and his eyes flickered upwards to hers for a second. He held the gaze for a second before looking back at the fire, tossing in another stick.

He was quiet for a few seconds, long enough that Rayla was about to try to elaborate, but then he spoke. “Are you going to say what’s wrong with your hand?”

She winced, and curled it towards her chest in a quick, reflexive attempt to hide it. The speed of the movement pulled a little painfully against the swelling fingers. “…Not yet?” She answered, almost pleadingly. He did turn to look back at her then, eyes fixing seriously on hers. She’d not quite noticed how piercing that shade of blue could be, before now.

“I can tell it’s important.” He told her, plainly. “But it’s _your_ hand. You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want. _Or_ Callum. It’s not our business.”

Rayla grimaced a little, and reached out to pull one of the fish-on-a-stick from the edge of the fire. “…It sort of is, actually. It’s complicated.” She exhaled a long breath, feeling the first inklings of a stress headache sprouting at the sides of her face. “But…not now? Let’s just…eat fish and relax for a while. After today it’s going to be pretty hard going, after all.” She attempted a smile.

He blinked at her, curious and not trying to hide it, but nodded without making any further moves to ask questions. “Okay. Sounds good.” He said after a moment, and finished putting the last of the sticks onto the fire. “….is there anything left to do on the tent?”

Her smile loosened into something more genuine at the hope in those words. She wondered how long it would be until Ezran no longer found the tent so intriguing. “Callum’s probably sorting out the inside of the tent. I bet you can help him with that if you hurry.”

Predictably, this led to the littler human of the party scurrying across to his brother. She watched him go, and watched him duck into the main tent to investigate, and then smothered a laugh as she heard: “Uh, Callum? Why is the door facing _that_ way?”

There was a pause, then a muttered rude word from the older prince. Evidently, he’d started hanging the inner-tent the wrong way round. Rayla, who had done the exact same thing the first time she’d been left on tent duty alone, found herself feeling sympathetically amused about it.

She shook her head ruefully and eased a smaller river-fish from a stick and onto an increasingly large pile. They’d have plenty to eat tonight, and plenty of leftovers to spare, which was just as well. This interlude by the lake was probably the most rest they’d get for a while. In a day or three, the terrain would get decidedly harsher, and no one would be having fun.

Least of all her, with the hand she didn’t expect she’d be able to keep.

She flexed the stiffening fingers of her left hand, and sighed. Well, in any case…She’d best enjoy the calm while she could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place on 15.05, day 5 since start of canon. 
> 
> **True story:** I have put the inner-tent up the wrong way round before, early on in my hiking experience. This leads to the doorway to the inside of the tent being inaccessible, and is not advised. Generally you don’t make that mistake twice, but it’s an easy one to make the first time.
> 
>  **Medical note:** I am treating Rayla’s hand as a limb ischemia. Damage and symptoms will follow ischemic trends, with one notable exception: **I am ignoring the worst effects of reperfusion injury.** There’s some reasons for this. 1) canon does it. Rayla’s hand returns to normal in about five seconds with no apparent pain or consequence or, indeed, reperfusion. 2) I’m not going to let her off as lightly as canon, but I also don’t want to have to rearrange my plot to make room for fighting Rayla’s major organ failure, so. I’m just plain not going to. 
> 
> The risk here is to Rayla’s hand and its assorted anatomical constituents, not to Rayla’s kidneys and heart; and there might be some inflammatory damage, but not the horrifying cascades of cell death you often see in reperfusion.
> 
> For the purposes of this story, let’s just say elves are, for whatever reason, highly resistant to reperfusion damage. Maybe not completely immune, but very very resistant. Feel free to imagine whatever explanation you like for that.
> 
>  **Afterword:** thanks for the support everyone has given with comments and kudos and so on. I actually didn’t have an anxiety crash after last chapter because there was so much nice response, which was a pleasant change. Thanks again to Jelly who keeps offering enthusiasm and encouragement, and to Noip who has followed me through like three fandoms now and is always my best analyst.
> 
> I’ve now written about a total of like…83k of piaj? But ch6 is still unfinished because I’ve mainly been writing future scenes, rip. At least when we get to like, chapter 20ish, I’ll have a heck of a lot of content pre-written. Also I have all of the major currently-planned events on a rough timeline now, and it’s Fun. The latest major event currently in the timeline is currently loosely plotted around Day 50, and coincidentally, it’s the event that I (and Jelly) am most desperate to get to. (note: this is not when the story would end.)
> 
> I only have one complete chapter left to post, so....wish me luck on finishing 6.


	5. Approaching the Belt v

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rayla and the Princes both learn some unfortunate truths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited: 25/11/19, minor stylistic changes, minor edits to conform better with later worldbuilding. No s3 edits.

They spent the rest of the evening in relative ease, the tension around the issue of Rayla’s hand ebbing from the boys in the face of cooked food and a cheerful campfire. The fish itself was variably tasty – the river trout were delicious, and a few of the others, but a couple types tasted so unbearably fishy it was hard for Rayla to stomach them. Still, she did her best to eat as much as she could, urging the others to do the same – they could carry some of the leftovers with them, but they wouldn’t stay fresh for long.

She ushered everyone to bed when the sun had barely set. “We need to set out as early as possible tomorrow.” She informed them, in no uncertain terms. “We lost time today, and there’s probably people tracking us. We need to get as far from the lake as we can, as fast as we can.”

Thus, their little party settled down for their second night in the pilfered tent.

Callum was no less active in his sleep this night than the first, and judging by the ambient rustling, Ezran was just as bad. Rayla stubbornly faced away from them and did her best to ignore it. The presence of the two humans in the tent was, at least, less jarringly foreign and unsettling now, and she got a bit more sleep that night than the previous. She woke up at dawn and shook both princes awake at the same time, slipping on her boots and hurrying outside to get a start on packing up the camp while they were still blinking groggily at the tent roof.

After a breakfast of cold fish, Rayla led them off on their journey while they were still half-asleep and yawning every other second. Neither of them woke up enough to hold conversations for a good half hour of walking, which suited Rayla just fine. She was used to silent travel.

As they receded from the lakeside, they travelled into a forest that was composed mainly of birch, beech, and elm – a fairly young-looking forest with rotting stumps that indicated a cull within at least the past human generation. Evidently, it was close enough to human habitation to be used for logging every decade or so. It made Rayla a little wary of potentially running into woodcutters, but none of the stumps seemed even vaguely recent, and there weren’t any suspicious branches or wood chips laying around to indicate recent activity, so it was probably fine.

Still. They’d be crossing the road at some point today, which held a considerably higher risk of humans. She’d stay alert, and maybe ask Callum for a time estimate once he was awake enough to make a comprehensible reply.

Eventually, one of the boys did summon the presence of mind to talk.

“Do we have to get up this early _every_ day?” Ezran asked plaintively, when he finally gathered his wits enough to attempt coherent speech.

“Better for us if we do.” Rayla answered, watching as Callum lifted his head to listen, still with that bleary half-asleep look in his eyes. “Starting our walk at this time of day means we can stop in mid-afternoon to make camp, and still get a good seven or eight hours of walking done.”

Both princes groaned in concert at that. “ _Eight hours._ ” Callum bemoaned, voice groggy but somehow still expressive enough to evoke dismay. “My poor legs.”

Her lips quirked at their woebegone expressions. She remembered the early days of her journey to Katolis. She’d had the advantage of a near decade of training and excellent physical fitness, but her legs had still objected vehemently to the amount of travel. “Yeah, your legs will probably hate you for a while.” She said, only a little sympathetically. There was a certain satisfaction in being able to speak from the position of experience. There was also satisfaction in the knowledge that her legs, by now very well-accustomed to travel, probably wouldn’t pain her at all until they got to the mountains.

“What do you even _do_ when you walk for that long?” Ez wondered, raising a hand to rub at his eyes. Bait hopped along beside him, looking as grumpy as ever. “‘I spy’ would get really boring after that long. Or word-association. Or – _any_ game.”

“Mostly you just walk. And daydream.” Rayla said honestly, thinking back on her long weeks of travel. Certainly the assassin squad had conversed among themselves while they travelled, but always quietly, to ward off the risk of becoming unwary and opening themselves to attack or ambush. All things considered, her last few days of travel had been much louder than she was used to.

“I guess I’m pretty good at daydreaming.” Ezran allowed, after a moment. “I bet it still gets boring after weeks though. You were travelling for _months._ Didn’t _you_ get bored?”

Rayla had generally done her very best to avoid looking even vaguely bored or inattentive during the course of the journey, because Runaan had a near-supernatural sense for that sort of thing. The second he suspected her attention might be lapsing, he tended to materialise behind her to make her recite some aspect of her book-learning. Poison-making processes, sometimes, or the most common edible plants in the eastern Pentarchy, or how to make a decent wound-cleaning poultice in the absence of actual good medicine. The other assassins had found it very amusing up until he started doing the same to them.

It had been a very well-educated squad of assassins that finally arrived at Katolis, after two months of that.

“…Well, you find ways to pass the time.” Rayla said eventually, after a conspicuously-long pause.

“We’ll manage just fine, Ez.” Callum said, apparently unconcerned, from the lofty position of someone who could draw while walking.

She eyed him. He looked vaguely more alert now. She waited until he noticed her staring and then promptly engaged him in a discussion about their map and the likely distance to the road. His answer essentially boiled down to this: he would be able to judge their distances and walking speed much better after they actually reached the road, but until then he really didn’t know.

She sighed, accepted it, and moved on. He might need some practice, but she _was_ glad to have someone who amounted to a cartographer along. She hadn’t exactly memorised the Katolis maps, and so might have had a hard time otherwise.

The day fell into a rhythm that Rayla was very familiar with; periods of wordless travel broken by nothing but the sound of their footfalls in the forest, and occasional interludes of idle conversation. The reality of the long journey ahead of them was starting to sink in for the boys, it seemed, because a lot of their talking seemed centred around the things they’d miss while they were gone, and how many lessons they’d have to catch up on once they were home again, and how worried certain family members must be, and how maybe they should send a letter, and how exactly they were supposed to send a letter from the middle of a forest with no trained crows.

Rayla stayed very carefully out of those conversations. Guilt prickled nearly as unpleasantly as the ache and the burn in her bound hand.

The princes seemed at least vaguely accustomed to physical activity, because the relatively-brisk walking pace on flat land didn’t leave them out-of-breath or panting. They started complaining of stiff legs alarmingly early, though.

“I already miss the boat.” Ezran declared, around three hours into their walk. Rayla snorted loudly at that, attracting looks from both boys.

“You have to admit, the boat saved us a lot of walking.” Callum said to her, one eyebrow raised as if to dare her to deny it.

She ignored it. “Maybe so. Doesn’t mean I miss the boat, though. I’m much happier to be walking.”

There were a few seconds of quiet, uninterrupted walking before Ezran spoke up. “Rayla, can I ask something?” She looked at him, finding curious eyes staring back at her. She slowed a little, to allow him to fall into pace with her.

“What is it?” She inquired, a little wary of his caution. Neither he nor his brother had asked about her hand again, but she was aware of their attention flickering to it from time-to-time; now didn’t appear to be one of those times, but…she was still anxious about the possibility they’d ask.

She’d need to tell them about the binding, and soon. She was _uncomfortably_ aware of it, in fact.

He hesitated, and bent to pick up Bait, who had croaked up at him in a plaintive sort of way. “…Were you always scared of water?” he asked, and she stilled for a moment, skin prickling with an entirely different sort of discomfort. “Or did something happen?” he hefted Bait in his arms, settling the weight of the glow toad against his chest. Callum looked over at the question, plainly curious about her answer, even if he’d not been the one to ask the question.

It was on the tip of Rayla's tongue to deny every hint of fear, even given what they'd talked about the day before, even given they _knew_. Admitting to fear was just – not _done._ Shameful. But these were humans. It wasn’t as though they understood that. It was...probably fine. "…Nah. Nothing _happened._ I've just always been scared of water. Even when I was a wee thing. _Hated_ bath-time."

“Huh.” He considered that, mulling over whatever implications that had for him, and after a moment concluded aloud “so that means you were already scared of water when you learned how to swim?”

“Well, yeah.” She admitted, thinking back on it with a shiver. “Mind, didn’t get around to it until I was a bit older. But yeah.”

“But you did it anyway.” Callum pointed out, the hint of a smile at the edge of his lips. She watched him warily, just a little tense, braced despite everything for accusations of cowardice. “That’s more bravery for you.”

She blinked, befuddled, her posture loosening. “…Oh. Er…”

“You were scared of water but you learned anyway.” Ezran agreed, in what felt like a solemn repetition of their post-lake-monster discussion. “That’s _super_ brave.”

Back home, she’d be getting side-eyed, maybe muttered about. There was a low-level, unspoken acknowledgement that people _were_ scared of things, that fear existed – but showing any sign of it? Allowing it to affect your actions? There were more effective ways to damage your reputation, but not many. And here they were calling her _brave_ for it. “…If you say so?” She offered, uncertainly.

“Well, yeah. You could have just…refused to learn to swim, right?” Ez said, and then looked momentarily flummoxed. “Or would people have _made_ you?”

She huffed. “No one would have _made_ me learn.” She said, tempted to laugh a little at the mere concept. Runaan would have garrotted anyone who tried. Even if he was silently disapproving of her cowardice himself all the while.

“So, you were brave.” The littlest prince affirmed, with all the assured confidence of a child who knew how things were. “You learned, even though you were afraid.”

“Well, yeah.” She snorted, and narrowed her eyes a little balefully at the thought that provoked. "Not learning to swim is like _askin'_ for water to kill you."

Callum laughed at that, sounding surprised. “Well, that’s one way to put it.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “And how would _you_ put it?”

He considered it for a second, and said “ _’Going near water before you know how to swim is dangerous’,_ maybe. At least, that’s what dad used to tell Ezran when he was a tiny thing, back when we visited the Great Bay.”

Ezran’s face scrunched up, and thankfully Callum’s attention seemed more on that than the way Rayla couldn’t help but tense whenever the King was mentioned. “I don’t remember that.” He complained.

Callum reached over to ruffle his brother’s huge hair. “Well, you wouldn’t. You were like, shorter than dad’s knees. But you liked the water – kept trying to play in it, even though it was dangerous.”

He snickered. “Like Bait!” The glow-toad made a grumpy noise at that, eyes rolling to the side.

“Pff. Yeah, like Bait.”

“…How old _were_ you when you learned to swim, Ezran?” Rayla asked after a moment, curious despite herself. She’d learned late, once she’d managed to find the courage for it. When did humans usually learn? _Did_ they all usually learn, or was it just a high-class-human thing?

The boy’s face screwed up again. “Uh….”

“You were six.” Callum said, patiently, and smiled as he looked ahead, eyes half-lidded as he recalled the memory to mind. “You learned in a little pool-thing full of seawater. It had mosaics of whales around it. Don’t you remember?” Rayla huffed a soft laugh at that. Callum _would_ remember the poolside artwork, wouldn’t he?

Ezran squinted. “….Was one of the whales purple?”

“…There was not a purple whale, no.”

“Then nope, I don’t remember a thing.” He declared, entirely unconcerned, and put Bait on top of his backpack so he could adjust his straps. “I _do_ remember that time you freaked out about us drowning, though.”

Callum laughed sheepishly, as if embarrassed, while Rayla just – stopped short for a second, creating a noticeable pause in her stride, which didn’t go unnoticed. “Sorry, did you say _drowning?_ ” She asked, incredulous, absolutely certain that there couldn’t have been anything that dire in their pasts, if they mentioned it so casually, and _went swimming_ so casually.

“I didn’t do even a little bit of drowning.” Ezran attested, eyes bright, as if relishing an oncoming opportunity to mildly embarrass his sibling. “But _Callum-“_

“ _Ez.“_ Callum groaned, raising a hand to his face. “It’s not – look, it was perfectly reasonable!”

Rayla tilted her head, curious, and fell into step with Callum as they walked, sensing a story. “…What happened?”

“It was a few years ago, maybe?” Callum hedged, looking uncomfortable. “There’d been a storm a few days before we got to the Great Bay – and, well, some of the sailors…They were telling all these _horror stories,_ about how it was lucky no one drowned, and about times when people _had_ drowned, and – I think I was very sensibly concerned!”

“He made a _huge_ scene at the harbour.” Ezran explained to Rayla, smiling almost fondly. “Wouldn’t let anyone get in any boats. He got really worried about me, the big doof.”

She squinted at him, uncertain. “…That makes sense?” She tried, glancing at Callum as if to gain some insight as to why Ezran seemed to find humour in the situation. “I’d have been worried too?” Granted, she was a little biased on the matter, as she took it as a given that water would attempt to kill anyone who ventured near it, but…

“ _Thank you,_ Rayla.” Callum said, with a pointed glance at his brother. The brother in question answered him with a sunny smile.

“Well, yeah. But like, he didn’t just leave it there.” Ezran beamed up at his brother, who looked away, conspicuously uncomfortable. “Callum’s a _worrier._ So he got Aunt Amaya to teach him some field-healing, just in case I got hurt.” _Field-healing?_ Rayla eyed him, intrigued.

The elder prince folded his arms, defensive. “Look, it was a useful thing to learn! Plenty of people learn field-healing!”

“Yeah, but you learned it because you _cared about me._ ” Ezran said, still beaming like a miniature sun.

Callum did not deny it, but did look a bit grumpier. “So?”

“So, stop being embarrassed about it.” Ezran told him. “I think it’s nice.”

Rayla looked back and forth between them as this proceeded, eyebrows raised. Apparently, accusing Callum of being a concerned and caring person was an easy way to embarrass him. She silently committed that information to memory, considering _‘field-healing_ ’ with interest. He shifted a little, shoulders hunching slightly under her assessing eyes. “Field-healing?” She quoted, keen to chase up that mention of a potentially useful skill. “What does that mean for you?” With luck, it was what she thought, and there were more practical skills in these humans than she’d previously known.

“Er.” Callum hesitantly met her curious gaze, and shrugged a little, sheepish. “Well, sort of basics to do if someone gets hurt? How to wrap bandages and stuff, or what to do if someone chokes, or stops breathing.”

“Oh, we have that too.” Rayla recognised, pleased, with a vaguely victorious-feeling thrill at the confirmation of her guess. Maybe someone in this group other than her knew something practical, after all! Cartography aside. “Except we call it ‘first aid’.”

He looked interested now, too. “Makes more sense as a name than ‘field-healing’, I guess. I mean, I know it’s mostly soldiers who learn it, but still.” He straightened, earlier embarrassment evaporating in the face of his fascination. “I wonder if elves and humans teach the same things?”

“Well, one way to find out.” Rayla said, and shot a half-grin at him. He tentatively smiled back at her.

Ezran looked between the two of them, and sighed. “This is going to turn into two hours of listening to you guys talk about field-healing, isn’t it.”

“…Honestly, I could probably use the refresher.” Callum admitted. “It’s been a couple of years.”

“I’ll just be glad if there turns out to be more than one of us who knows what to do with a bandage.” She said, and then, true to Ezran’s prediction, the next good hour was nothing but discussion of the differences and similarities between elf and human first aid. Runaan would have been proud of such productive use of travel time.

Rayla learned some interesting things: for example, humans had almost no antibiotics whatsoever, and therefore did a lot of dying of infection when they got seriously injured. They used distilled alcohol to disinfect – a medium-sized bottle of which she’d purloined from the Lodge – but if infection set in there was little they could do to stop it. They used some tinctures known to help fight infection, but had no refined medicines for it like elves did. They could mostly only soothe the symptoms, and the closest thing they had to antibiotics was slapping mouldy bread onto people.

It made her wish, sincerely, that she hadn’t had to leave all of her things behind. The assassins’ first aid kit had been very comprehensive. She resolved to keep an eye out for any potentially useful medicinal plants along the way.

For the most part, though, it seemed that you cared for injured humans much the same way as you cared for injured elves. They apparently had the same general heart rates, suffocated just as quickly if their airways were blocked, and the thing to do with someone who’d choked or drowned and wasn’t breathing was pretty much the same.

It was half-way through discussing resuscitation of non-breathing people that Rayla realised that, surely, there _had_ to be a difference here.

“ _Wait.”_ She said, abruptly enough that everyone stopped walking, Callum falling silent in the middle of what had been a description of how humans did chest compressions. “How do humans restart someone’s heart if you don’t have mages?” They didn’t use _dark magic,_ did they? …But how else would they do it?

Callum stared at her blankly. She wasn’t sure if that was just confusion at being interrupted or a sign that something was _very different_ here. “…Restart someone’s heart.” He repeated, brow furrowing, and glanced bemusedly at Ezran, who shrugged helplessly. “Like…uh, what do you mean?”

“When you’ve got someone whose heart isn’t working right.” She elaborated, a tad impatiently, but also with a distinct sinking sensation in her gut. “How do you get it going again without a Sky mage handy?”

There was a brief period of silence. Then: “You’re saying elves can _restart hearts?”_ Callum exclaimed, eyes wide, and…that was a pretty clear sign that her hunch had been on-point. That was…unfortunate. “ _How?”_

Rayla stared back, similarly wide-eyed. “….There’s a spell?” She explained, scrambling for the words. Everything had been so similar up to this point that it was abruptly difficult to try to think of explaining something so obvious to members of a species _who had no way to restart hearts._ So…did their version of resuscitation ever actually work on anyone whose heart had stopped? How ridiculously low must the survival rate be? “A Sky magic spell. It uses lightning to start the heart again?”

Both boys looked utterly flummoxed by this knowledge. It was not a promising sign.

“…Lightning can restart hearts?” Callum offered, weakly, after several moments of mutual astonishment.

“Does this mean _Callum_ can learn how to restart hearts?” Ezran added, after a moment, and the mage in question looked like he might fall over with shock and glee at the mere words.

“Er…maybe if he spent a month training under a master sky mage. Or master healer.” Rayla hedged, and watched Callum’s face fall, a little regretful at having to disappoint him. “I don’t know the spell’s _words_ , let alone the rune, and even then – I’m pretty sure you need training to use it right.” Still, her mind automatically tried to think of what sort of thing you’d call a heart-starting spell. Had she not heard it mentioned in her classes? Surely it had a name. She was sure she remembered something like that. Something that reminded her of the word ‘impulsive’, maybe?

“…I suppose it _would_ be pretty weird for you to know a super specific heart-starting lightning spell when you don’t know the normal lightning spell.” Callum said, ruefully, and after a moment kept walking. “I still can’t believe elves can restart hearts.”

“I still can’t believe that humans _can’t._ ” Rayla retorted, and followed after, the three of them falling back into step as they walked onwards. “What do you do if you get someone who’s not breathing and has no heartbeat, then? Just leave them for dead?”

“Well, you can try to do life-breaths and compressions for a while, and see if their heart starts on its own, but…” he looked almost apologetic as he trailed off.

So, in essence, human resuscitation only really worked on people whose hearts were still beating, and they had no goal of ‘keep going until the nearest Sky-healer arrives’ to work towards, because they had no Sky mages. That was…incredibly unfortunate.

“I mean, I don’t know how it is for elves, but for us having no heartbeat means you’re dead.” Ezran informed her, looking up with a light frown. “Even _I_ know that, and I’m only ten.”

Rayla considered that, and then pointed at both of them sternly. “Neither of you are allowed to go near water until we get to Xadia. Or heart-stopping poisons. Or lightning.”

“What if it’s my lightning?” Callum asked, reasonably, and she rolled her eyes.

“Well, if it’s _your_ lightning spell, it’s just the people around you that need to worry.” She informed him, and then stopped. Her mind, still half-stuck on trying to remember the name of the heart-starter spell, clicked over on the world _impulsive,_ and her mouth opened into a silent ‘o’. “ _Inpulsis,_ ” She announced, after a second, sure that that was right, a flutter of triumph rising in her chest at having remembered it.

Callum and Ezran both blinked at her, perplexed. “Impulsive what-now?” Callum inquired.

“ _Inpulsis._ That’s the Draconic word for ‘shock’. I’m pretty sure it’s part of the heart-starting spell – and that doesn’t help you, since we don’t have the rune, but-“

Excitement dawned on his face as he caught her meaning. “-but it might work for the lightning rune I know?” he finished, eyes lighting up. He was reaching for the primal stone before she could get a word in edgewise.

“ _Wait_ just a minute,” She chided him, grabbing him by both wrists to stop him from doing anything, well, impulsive. “If you’re going to test out that spell, you’re going to do it somewhere more open than this. In a clearing. With the two of us a safe distance away from you. Alright?” Her left hand felt tight and sore in its grip around his wrist; she let that one go first, and then the other, bringing her good hand over to rub uneasily at the bad one.

Callum, for his part, looked mildly startled at having been stopped in his tracks like that, but registered the sense in her words after a few moments. “…Yeah, that _may_ be a good idea.” He agreed, somewhat chagrined, and turned the primal stone in his hands a few times before he reached to put it away. “Maybe we can stop somewhere for lunch soon and try it?”

“In an hour or so, maybe.” Rayla decided, rolling her bad hand carefully. It felt strange – and stranger by the hour. Oddly numb, yet still painful. It prickled with electric tingles of pain and a nearly cold-feeling sensation every time she moved it…but if she _didn’t_ move it, it started aching awfully.

Callum’s eyes didn’t miss the motion. They tracked her hand for a few seconds, narrowing slightly, and then returned ahead. He offered a smile. “Well, let’s get moving then. And then later we can find out if _Inpulsis_ is the right word for the lightning spell.”

 

\---

_Inpulsis_ was not the right word for the lightning spell.

“It felt – weird.” Callum tried to explain after the fact, apparently having difficulty putting the experience into words. He tried to flatten down his hair for the fifth time, with no more success than before. His fingers crackled with static. “Like the rune was fighting the word. It felt like – I forced the magic through a shape it didn’t fit into? It was close enough to do _something,_ but – the rune didn’t fit the word. The magic – well.”

“The magic didn’t like it.” Rayla summarised, dryly, trying to pat the static from her own hair. Ezran wasn’t even _trying_ to sort out his, abandoning it as a lost cause.

“It really didn’t.” he admitted, eyes all disappointed and mournful at the primal stone in his lap.

The spell, when forced through the mismatching word, had crackled outwards in a shapeless mess, causing an outwards surge of weak, unfocused electricity that gave all of them a mildly unpleasant shock. Ezran had checked on the egg and reported it delighted with the situation, but the rest of them had certainly not enjoyed it.

“Cheer up, maybe there’s another rune that’ll work with that word.” She said, a little guilty at having provided the wrong word in the first place. Really, what had she been thinking? The lightning spell probably wanted a more strongly lightning-y word than ‘shock’. Like whatever ‘lightning’ was.

…Wait.

Rayla stared straight ahead for several seconds and then buried her face in her hands, uttering a despairing groan. ‘ _She might have called me a fool’,_ he’d said. _Lightning._ It was so _obvious._ If anyone was a fool, it was obviously _her;_ how could she have not remembered it?

“…Rayla?” Callum questioned, sounding vaguely alarmed.

“Did you get zapped too hard?” Ezran added a second later, similarly anxious.

“ _Fulminis._ ” Rayla said, and then sighed gustily, thoroughly abashed at not having _remembered_ that to begin with. “That’s the draconic word for lightning. You said what’s-her-name – Claudia? – called you a fool. I bet she was actually saying _fulminis._ ”

There was a brief, somewhat stunned silence.

“…That would make sense, but also I’m not in the mood to get shocked again if it’s wrong.” Callum admitted after a moment, eyeing the primal stone warily.

Ez passed the egg, currently situated in his lap, over to his brother. “Hold the egg? I think it pulls in lightning. Maybe it’ll help if it goes wrong again.”

Callum paused, put down the stone, and carefully accepted the egg. He pulled it into his lap with a strange expression, and Rayla wondered if he, too, was realising that this was the first time Ezran had passed the egg to anyone since they left Katolis. He observed its gentle glow for a few moments, and then took a careful breath. He reached for the primal stone, settling the egg more solidly in his lap with the other hand, and then raised it with his finger poised to Draw. “Time for you guys to stand back again.” He said, and both of them scrambled for the treeline.

Rayla watched from the shadow of a conifer as he drew the crackling line of the rune in the air, heart racing a little from the apprehension of it. Would it be right this time? Were they all about to get shocked again? She _really_ hoped she wasn’t wrong again.

“Fulminis,” he said, in a clear voice that rang the length of the clearing, and in a sudden sharp motion, pointed the hand that had drawn the rune at the ground in front of him.

Lightning _cracked,_ with a sharp flash and hiss, and disappeared into the ground within a second. It was somewhat anticlimactic, actually. At least for a moment.

A heartbeat passed, then another, and then “it worked!” Callum cheered, delighted, throwing his hands up. He nearly dislodged the egg, and lowered his arms hastily around it to stop it from falling. Cautiously, Rayla approached, Ezran beside her, as Callum stood with a brilliant smile. She wondered if he was about to shout about magic again, like he had the first time he’d realised he was a mage.

Instead, he passed the egg over to Ez and in the next second threw his arms around her shoulders. She startled, hands jerking up in surprise, and wavered uncertainly for a few seconds before she warily returned the embrace. “Well, I’m glad it worked this time?” She offered, startled at the sudden hugging. Apparently, the new spell had made him a very happy mage indeed.

He pulled back a second later, still beaming, though he looked vaguely more self-conscious about it now. He brought up a hand to make another try at flattening his hair, sheepish. “Yeah, me too. Thanks, Rayla. Now I’ve got two working spells.”

Ezran inspected the two of them for a few seconds, head tilted, as if considering something. He shook it off and raised the egg. “I think the egg’s sad you didn’t hit it.” He commented. “It really likes sky magic.”

Callum shot him a strange look. “Well, I mean, I could always _intentionally_ shoot lightning at it, now I know the spell?” He suggested, brow furrowing. “I don’t know if that would be safe, though. _Fulminis_ seems like a strong spell.”

The two of them looked at Rayla then, as if she were any more of a dragon egg expert than them. She raised her hands to forestall the notion, the left one sending complaints of pain up her arm as she moved it. “Don’t look at me, I don’t know how dragon eggs work.”

“Better safe than sorry.” Callum decided, after a second. “No shooting lightning at the egg of the Dragon Prince.”

“Sounds sensible.” Rayla agreed, and after a moment, held out a hand in the direction of his sketchbook, slung securely-closed over his shoulder. “Have you got any spare paper? Maybe I’ll try to see if I remember any more Draconic while we walk.”

 

\---

 

By the time the forest started thinning out, becoming little more than groves of saplings around groves of coppiced stumps, Rayla hadn’t had much success in remembering anything definitively sky-related, but she’d managed some things. Mainly she was just writing down every word she could remember, idle phrases and idioms and names of calendar months included. It was probably mostly useless, but she reckoned Callum would probably get a kick out of it anyway.

She closed the paper and handed it back to him, interrupting what had been a quiet background conversation between the brothers on the topic of the relative scariness of various waterfowl. “I’ll try to remember more later, but for now, shh. I think we’re close to the road.”

“…How can you tell?” Ez asked, obeying her by at least keeping it to a whisper.

She waved around them. “Younger trees. Lots of woodcutting.” She explained briefly, and watched them stare around them as if noticing the state of the forest for the first time, eyes wide and dawning with recognition. For a second, she was briefly disorientated to watch them looking about like that, their knowledge and experience so immensely distinct from her own that something as obvious as the artificially-thinned forest was a surprise to them.

Moon and Sun help them when they got to Xadia, was all she could think. Hopefully by then she’d have squashed some useful knowledge into their skulls.

Rayla pressed a finger to her lips again, to reinforce the command for quiet, and led their suddenly much-stealthier party through the young trees. Predictably, before long they reached the road. It was broad and loosely paved, covered in rows of carefully-placed wide stones that had been beaten flat and smooth by the impact of many, many feet and hooves. Mosses and weeds grew out from between them, disturbed in places by recent traffic.

There weren’t any humans in sight, or within the range of her hearing. Silently, she gestured them across the road and into the treeline on the opposite side, and kept them moving. About ten minutes of brisk walking later, she said “well, that was anti-climactic.”

Taking that as permission to speak again, Callum shrugged. “Would have been pretty unlucky if people were passing through at the exact time we crossed.”

“Yeah, exactly.” Rayla agreed, a little grimly.

Ez tilted his head at her. “Did you think we’d run into people anyway?”

She patted him on the shoulder and paused for a moment to answer. “Let me share an elven proverb with you: _when you’re travelling in a human kingdom with humans after you, don’t rely on luck to keep you alive._ ” It was almost even an actual proverb. If you counted phrases frequently-uttered around a campfire of assassins to be proverb. Of course, if she were being accurate to the source material, she’d have finished it with ‘ _because luck is a fickle ballsack and should not be trusted with anything important’._

The little prince considered that. “Good advice, I guess.” He assessed, and kept walking.

“How long do you think we were walking, to get to that road?” Callum asked her a second later, reading for his sketchbook-map with that increasingly familiar thinking-about-things look on his face.

Rayla took a second to gauge her constant awareness of the position and movements of the moon, accounted for the half-hour or so they’d spent having a break, and said “’bout five-and-a-half hours.”

“Nice.” Callum pronounced, and spent the next hour filling in an absurd amount of detail on his map, and periodically tripping over tree roots in the process.

 

\---

 

The walk to the road and its accompanying time-stamp allowed Callum to make a pretty decent estimate of not only the scale of his map, but also their walking speed. With that in mind, he started drawing in as many towns, minor rivers, mountains, and roads as he could think of, thinking on every map of Katolis he’d ever been shown. It was actually pretty absorbing work, so he didn’t notice Rayla scoping out their surroundings for a good place to camp until she caught him by the shoulder to stop him walking on without her.

“We’ll stop here for the day.” She announced, setting down her bag and the tent pack with a decisive _thunk._ Callum was reminded, abruptly, of how much more weight she was carrying than the rest of them. He felt briefly guilty, but reassured himself with the knowledge that he was at least learning useful camp-things, like fish-cleaning and tent-pitching.

“Thank goodness.” Ezran sighed, parking himself and his bag and also Bait on a patch of grass. He, apparently, had been paying attention, and was not surprised by the sudden end to the day of walking. “My legs feel weird.”

“Weird how?” Callum inquired, whose legs felt sore and stiffer than usual, but mainly around his joints. He’d sort of expected the actual muscle-parts of his legs to hurt, but they were alright for now.

“Like my knees and hips are going stiff.”

“That’ll be worse in the morning, and also you’ll probably feel it in your calves and thighs too.” Rayla informed them, sitting herself down next to the bags. “It’ll be much worse once we start taking on the mountains.”

“Joy.” Callum deadpanned, and after a moment, sat down with the rest of them, shrugging off his bag and putting down the sketchbook-map. Rayla watched him interestedly for a second, then nodded towards his book.

“Can I look at that?”

He passed it over. “Sure.” She opened it carefully at the map and ran analytic eyes over it, humming approvingly and nodding at parts. He assumed she was considering routes, so left her to it, shuffling over next to Ez. He stretched out his legs, shaking them a little to try to exorcise some of the growing stiffness of them. “So, what do you think of our first full day of walking?” He asked, settling comfortably next to his brother.

His brother considered it. “Less boring than I thought.” He said, optimistically. “There’s lots of stuff to look at. I used to walk around the woods a lot back home, but these are all new.”

“The views get pretty great up in the mountains.” Rayla commented absently, still looking over the map. “Even if it is cold as-“ She broke off her sentence abruptly, not even seeming to realise she was doing it. He wondered for a second if she’d been distracted by something in the book, but, nope. He shrugged a little, and returned his attention to the map, and the mountain range they were approaching.

“Whereabouts did you cross over the Belt?” He asked, after a moment, and shuffled over to her instead. She looked up, blinked, and then smirked, indicating a point on the map near a point of interest he’d marked out.

“Round here, ish.” She said, in a suspiciously nonchalant voice. He eyed her a little sceptically, and looked back at the page.

“Wouldn’t have thought you’d risk crossing the mountains that close to a fort.” He commented, eyes lingering on where he’d drawn a sort of square for the best – and most heavily guarded – crossing through the mountains.

Her smirk widened again, and he found it very suspect indeed. “It was the best option for us.” She said, delicately.  “Wasn’t exactly risk-free, but then – it’s not like there _are_ any easy or risk-free routes, through this mountain range of yours.”

Even though she was acting downright shifty, he could still agree with the sentiment. One thing that decidedly obstructed travel in Katolis was their longest mountain range, creatively dubbed the Belt of Katolis. A mountain range that, shortly, they would have to contend with.

It ran in a sort of loose curve of peaks from the northern land-mass of the kingdom to the south-east, coming around to enclose a portion of the southern kingdom in a hook of mountains, and stretching along the Great Bay. The tallest mountain in Katolis, mount Kalik, was near the southern-most edge of that hook, and Castle Katolis itself lay within the lowland cradle of the Belt. There was pretty much no way to travel to Xadia by land without having to get past the Belt…and there was only one somewhat-easy way through.

“The Pass of Viatori is pretty easy, but that doesn’t really help us much.” He said, watching her reaction with narrow eyes, as he poked at the square representing the fort that, allegedly, her team of assassins had passed quite close to.

She blinked at him innocently. Too innocently. “Isn’t there a fort there?” She asked, as if they’d not just mentioned the fort less than a minute ago.

“Yes. Yes there is.” He fixed her with a suspicious stare, which she blatantly ignored.

“I vote we _don’t_ try to cross the Belt at a guarded fortress full of human soldiers.” She said, cheerfully.

“…Yeah, let’s not do that.” He stared at her for a few long seconds, in which she did not offer any explanation for all the smirking and suspicious reactions, or remove the unusually self-satisfied expression from her face. Finally, he raised his hands up, and said “Okay! What is it? What’s – what is it about Fort Viatori that you’re _smirking_ at?”

She eyed him for a few seconds, plainly amused, then finally conceded. “…We didn’t cross near the Pass.” She admitted, looking somewhat smug about it. “We went through it.”

He stared. Ezran, who’d been listening in, looked impressed. “How, exactly, did six elves get through one of the most heavily-defended places in the Pentarchy?” Callum asked, at last, honestly baffled.

She leaned over and patted him on the shoulder. “The answer to that, my human friend, would be ‘Moonshadow elf powers’.” She informed him, with some cheer. “We used our first full moon in Katolis to cross it. No one saw a thing.”

For a second, Callum stilled, remembering the shadowy half-visible forms of the assassins at King Harrow’s door. Remembered watching them flow like living darkness around the guards trying to save his father’s life. He shivered, then pushed the recollection away as violently as he could. Pushed the thoughts of home and family away just as insistently.“…That’s pretty cool.” He managed, not entirely naturally. Rayla’s good humour dimmed a little as she looked at him, a hint of concern passing over her face. He hoped she wouldn’t ask.

If she’d been planning on it, Ezran neatly derailed it with his curiosity. “So you get special powers at full moons?” he inquired, eyes wide with interest, and Rayla leaned back from Callum to blink at him.

“…Yeah.” She said, after a moment. “I forgot you didn’t see it. I was in my Moonshadow form when I came to find you, but I think Bait’s light counts as sunlight. Turned me right back.” She shrugged, eyes wandering to Callum again.

Fascinated despite himself, he perked up a bit. “Huh. That’s interesting.” He commented, looking across at the glow toad held in his brother’s arms, then back at Rayla. He hesitated. “I…actually saw some of the other assassins, when I went up to the tower.” He admitted, voice a little low, and she looked at him sharply. A second later, her features softened with understanding. “I didn’t get a great look at them, though. They were all sort of…shadowy. Kind of almost invisible.” He shrugged. “I’m guessing that’s how you got past the Fort Viatori guards?”

After a few moments, she nodded. “They weren’t expecting us, so it was pretty easy. Just had to pass through when no one was looking, one by one.”

Ezran observed them, eyes a little solemn as he picked up on the mood. Then, determinedly, he looked at the map, and pushed to conversation elsewhere. “So which way are _we_ gonna go?”

A second passed where Callum and Rayla looked at each other and silently, somewhat gratefully, agreed to let the uncomfortable topic drop. Rayla shrugged, leaned over to indicate their current route of travel, tapping the map with a slender finger. “We’ve just got to get past a couple of towns and then we’ll be near the foot of…whatever this mountain is called.”

He glanced at it. His handwriting, admittedly, had been very squashed in that region. There were a lot of mountains to name. “Dorel.”

“Yeah, that one. Callum, are all these mountain-squiggles to scale?”

He checked. “You mean, did I draw bigger lines for the bigger mountains?” She nodded at him, and he tilted a hand each way, uncertainly. “Sort of. I drew the really big ones bigger, but the rest…I can’t remember how big those are meant to be.”

She huffed, sounding more thoughtful than annoyed. “Well, whatever. We should try to cross over…Dorel, and past…” She squinted at the map. “I...as…solek?”

“Iasolek.” He confirmed.

“Past that. And then onto this….I’m not even going to try to read that. Then maybe if we’re lucky we can follow this river valley here instead of having to go over this…other mountain, too.” Ezran snickered a little, apparently amused by the illegibility of his mountain-names. Callum rolled his eyes and declined to try to fill in their knowledge.

“We’ll definitely be able to follow that river. It’s one of the two biggest in Katolis, completely cuts off the Belt from the northern mountains. Has a huge valley with its own, like, farms and villages and stuff.” He informed them. It was called the Rhodane, but he doubted either of them cared about that.

“Well, _yay_.” Rayla said, unenthusiastically. “Then we can follow that river to – actually, Callum, what do you think the chances are of us finding some sort of boat here?” She moved her finger over to where the Rhodane cut eastward towards the sea, coming out near the narrowest part of the Great Bay.

He inspected it. There were a lot of big towns along the edge of the Great Bay, some of which he and Ez were very familiar with from their yearly visits. The joining of the Rhodane to the Bay in particular was home to one of the largest cities of the kingdom. “I mean, there’s a _lot_ of towns there. If we _couldn’t_ find something, I’d be surprised. Worst-case, we might have to stow away on something.”

“That’s not what I’d call _worst-case.”_ She said, in tones of dark humour. He was briefly curious about what she _did_ consider ‘worst-case’, but she moved on too quickly for him to ask. “But okay. So, we travel to here and try to get a boat across the bay. Save ourselves a week or three of walking.”

“Maybe if we’re lucky we can find a boat to go along that river, too.” Ezran suggested, drawing a disgruntled look from Rayla.

“….Maybe.” She agreed sourly, and sighed, leaning back to stand up. “Well, that’s our route for the next couple of weeks planned, at least. I’m going to go fill up our waterskins. Can you two get started on the tent?”

“We can get the poles done, easy.” Ez declared after a moment, leaning over to roll her tent pack towards him.

“Good. Callum, if anything attacks you while I’m gone, hit it with lightning.” She instructed, and he felt himself break into a silly grin at the reminder of his second functional spell.

“Got it.” He agreed happily, and she rooted for their now-empty waterskins and disappeared into the trees within the minute. He watched her go for a second, then shuffled over to help Ez pull everything from the tent pack.

By the time Rayla returned, they’d got all but one of the poles assembled and set into the outer-tent, and were half-way through pushing the last one through. She dropped a waterskin between them with an idle warning of “the stream was pretty leafy, so there might be some pine needles in there.” She settled beside them, inspecting their work on the poles and apparently deeming it perfectly satisfactory as they both took a drink.

It seemed, really, that they were starting to get the hang of this camp thing. That they were starting to fall into a routine, their various roles becoming more practiced and starting to slot properly together. It left Callum feeling even more cheerful than the day’s success with magic had, and when he braced his end of a tent pole against the ground, waiting for Rayla to push the tent into shape-

Everything had been going so well. He wasn’t expecting it to suddenly go wrong.

He didn’t see what happened, but out of nowhere, Rayla let out a strangled scream, dropping the tent and clutching her hand to her chest, face twisting with pain. He was scrambling haphazardly over the still-flat tent towards her before he could fully process what had happened, Ez shooting to his feet from where he’d been sitting a couple of metres away. “What is it? What happened?” he demanded as he reached her, heart suddenly in his throat and pulse thrumming with alarm.

“Are you okay?” Ezran echoed, anxiously, arriving just a second later, staring up at her with worry. She was exhaling in a slow, measured breath, and didn’t look at either of them for a few seconds. When she did, her eyes flickered uncertainly between them, the look on her face settling into something considerably more worried than pained.

“…It’s fine.” She said, softly, after a few seconds. She was still holding her hand to her chest, its dark fingers cradled beneath the pale skin of the other. “I just – slipped. Hit my hand.” She looked away.

He’d noticed the darkening colour of her hand, of _course_ he had. He’d noticed the way she carefully avoided using it for anything too intensive, too, avoiding supporting much weight on it or moving it too quickly. He hadn’t asked, because it was pretty obvious from the previous evening that she didn’t want them to. But…

“…Look, I know you don’t want to talk about it, but – _your hand,_ ” He gestured at it, a little lost for words. It very clearly was not alright, and _now,_ was very clearly hurting her.

She said nothing, averting her face from their eyes. Her shoulders had hunched upwards, and it ought to have looked defensive. With her expression, though, and the way her body closed in as if to shield her hand, she just looked…scared. It was a bit frightening to see.

“Rayla.” He said again, helplessly, and held his hands out. “Just…let me see?” She hesitated, face turning ever-so-slightly their way, and he added “Please?”

She sighed, very quietly, and slowly uncurled the hand from her chest, extending it warily towards him. Ezran watched wide-eyed from his side, fingers clutching at his own sleeves as if he could draw support from their fabric. He leaned against Callum’s side in a way that told him better than anything how worried his brother was.

He hesitated, and moved his hands out to reach hers, his fingers settling on the bruised-looking skin as gently as he could. He watched her carefully, but if it hurt she didn’t show any sign of it, so he turned her hand over, looking in dismay at the state of it. Surreptitious glances hadn’t been quite sufficient to reveal how badly-off it seemed. It looked swollen, engorged and angry with dark blood, and up along the wrist…

She watched him, silent, as he trailed his fingers up to feel at the silvery ribbon-thing. It was punishingly tight, squeezing the wrist so tightly that the dark swelling even extended a little way up the arm. She hissed a little when he poked around it, and he drew back from it instantly, his hands settling around her cool skin. Was it supposed to be that cold?

He looked up at her face, and she still wasn’t saying anything. “ _Rayla.”_ His voice felt almost like he was pleading, at this point. He wished she would just – _say_ something. Even if it was ‘mind your own business’. He exhaled, heavily, and in the face of her ongoing silence, spoke again. “At least – tell us if there’s anything we can do to help? This looks-“ He stopped, and swallowed back the word. It looked _bad,_ is what it looked.

She exhaled, softly enough that he could barely hear it, and finally spoke. “…Thanks. But there’s not a lot to do about this.” She hesitated, and then drew her hand back from his, fingers of her right hand settling over the ribbon on her wrist. Her shoulders slumped, as if in defeat, and eventually she said “This is an assassin’s binding. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to tell you, but – I _have_ to.” Her eyes closed tightly shut for a moment. He’d never seen her look so afraid. Not even in front of the river. “I have to.” She repeated, quieter.

Ez shifted, anxious and uncertain against Callum’s side. “…What does it do?” He asked, voice uncommonly small.

Her jaw clenched for a moment. “It’s-“ She started, then stopped, helpless. “The night-“ She tried again, apparently unable to find the words. She shook her head violently and, almost angrily, forced the words out. “We all bound ourselves. All six of us. It’s – it’s a Moonshadow elf ritual. We bind ourselves to take a life – and if we don’t-“ She hesitated again, fingers cradling the viciously-tight band at her wrist.

Understanding dawned on him, horribly, a second behind a bigger realisation. “It’s getting tighter.” He said, the other part of the knowledge just-there, his mind just a second away from making the connection-

She met his eyes, and said “this binds me to the death of Prince Ezran. It’ll never come off while he’s alive. It’ll just get tighter and tighter until I lose my hand.”

Ezran’s fingers clenched in Callum’s jacket, tightly. He stared at Rayla, wide-eyed, apparently tongue-tied. Callum wasn’t doing any better, unable to manage any words himself for a good few moments.

He didn’t for a second consider distrusting her, he realised. He wasn’t sure when, but…at some point in the last few days, he’d got to know her enough that the idea she might kill Ezran to undo this binding – he couldn’t even fathom it. He didn’t trust as quickly or easily as Ez did, but…he _knew_ she wouldn’t. “Oh, Rayla.” He spoke quietly, understanding, and hating the understanding.

She shifted, nervously, as if concerned about the direction of his thoughts. “I’m going to pay that price,” She said, quickly, insistently. “I won’t – I’m not going to hurt Ez.”

Ez sniffed, and finally left Callum’s side, stumbling forwards to hug his would-be assassin around the middle. “I know you’re not going to hurt me, Rayla.” His words were muffled, but utterly crestfallen. “You’d _never._ It’s just –“ he broke off, sniffling, and Rayla’s arms slowly lowered to settle around his shoulders. The look on her face was a bit heartbreaking. Relieved, but horribly conflicted.

“It really sucks.” Callum finished, for his brother, unable to look away from her face. She seemed to find the eye contact uncomfortable, and dropped her gaze to Ezran’s hair, but – _no wonder_ she’d had a hard time saying this.

“Yeah.” Agreed Ez, miserably, still pressing himself tightly into the embrace. “That.”

“…I guess so.” Rayla offered, quietly, after a moment. She stiffened suddenly, looking alarmed. “Ez?” Callum followed her eyes and saw that Ezran’s shoulders were shaking – he was crying. Not hard, maybe, but… “Ez – it’s-“

“It’s not alright.” He cut her off, pulling back to stare at her fiercely, his eyes brightly, coldly blue. They were all the more vibrant for the tears at their edges. “It’s not _fair_. You shouldn’t have to lose your hand because – because-“ His face screwed up and he pulled an arm back to wipe at his eyes.

Rayla looked incredibly bewildered by the sudden manifestation of crying-Ezran. Callum might have found her expression funny if not for the circumstances. “Ez – okay, it’s not _fine,_ but there’s worse things than losing a hand. I’ll be alright.” She rested her good hand on his shoulder, hesitant, plainly uncertain of what to do.

He refused to be soothed, upset transmuting fast to an almost indignant affront with the situation at hand. “Isn’t there anything we can do?” he demanded, stepping back to ball his hands tightly at his sides, still seeking comfort even though he’d stepped away. “Can’t we cut it off? Or – or find some kind of spell to get it off?”

Her head lowered, eyes averting to the side. “…Believe me, I’ve tried.” She said, regretfully, and slowly flexed the dark fingers. “If there’s anything that can break this stupid binding – it’ll be in Xadia. There’s no way my hand will last that long.” She exhaled, heavily, and Ezran’s bubble of protective fury burst like a balloon. “It’s okay.” She tried to assure him, not sounding especially certain of the words herself.

Callum stepped forward then, jaw tight, and settled a hand on Ezran’s shoulder. “It’s _not_ okay, Rayla.” He insisted, firmly, his brother’s agitation rousing his own. “Come on – there’s got to be _something._ Some weird counter-ritual, or weird spell, or weird amulet that can break magic – I don’t know, a weird _something_. Just think. Maybe there’s something you haven’t thought of?“

Her eyes snapped up to his, now looking vaguely annoyed. “No. There’s nothing. Like I said, if there’s _anything_ that could help, it’s in Xadia.” Her words were shorter, now. Clipped. She folded her arms around herself and turned away, as if to close the subject. “It’s not _nice,_ but – I’m going to lose this hand. I’ve _accepted that,_ okay? You need to accept it, too.”

He tugged Ezran back to his side, straightening unhappily. “Maybe you’ve _accepted it_ too fast, Rayla. Look – maybe you can’t think of anything _now_ to take that binding off, but what if we at least…saw a Healer, or something?” Though, he supposed, any smaller towns in the area might not have a Healer. Just…a regular healer, or a doctor, maybe. But still.

She cast a look at him that was almost scathing, bristling like a frightened cat defending her space. “What do you think a _healer_ could do about a _magic wrist binding_?” her voice was cutting.

“…Maybe there’s magic healers.” He suggested, half-heartedly.

“In the _Pentarchy_? If there are, they’re _dark_ mages.” She glared at him, looking offended at the very thought. “I’d rather lose _both_ my hands than get treatment from _that._ ”

Her voice was so poisonous on those words he didn’t even think of trying to suggest otherwise. He threw up his hands, frustrated. “Then just a regular healer! Who knows, maybe they’ve got some medicines to – slow it down, maybe?”

Rayla cast a sharp, abrasive glance his way, then looked stubbornly to the side, folding her arms. “Leave it. There’s nothing anyone can do. That’s _it._ ” There was a warning edge to her voice, unpleasantly reminiscent of yesterday, just before she’d snapped at Ezran.

“But if we can get you more _time-“_ He started, initially stubborn, but cutting off quickly when she suddenly whirled around, fast as a striking snake.

“There’s no _point,_ Callum!” She hissed, thrusting her hand out as if in demonstration. He winced at the sight of it, the entire thing dark as a bruise. “ _Look!_ The binding’s tightening and nothing’s going to take it off! I should just-“ Her other hand twitched in the direction of one of her swords. “I should just – cut it off _now_ , so I can start healing from it sooner.” Her fingers brushed the folded form of the blade.

Ezran’s eyes went wide with alarm, and Callum was sure his weren’t much better. He shot his hand out to grab hers away from the blade. “-Don’t!” He said hastily, grip tightening a little on her fingers. She narrowed her eyes at him but didn’t move. “It’s – look, Rayla, I get what you’re saying, but – what if we _do_ find something? Some sort of – _magic thing_ , I don’t know, or something that _can_ cut your….assassin ribbony-thing. If you cut your hand off now – if we find something? It’ll be _too late_.”

She stared at him, jaw clenched, and said nothing. Tentatively, Ezran shuffled over, and looked up at her, eyes pleading. “Callum’s right, Rayla. If we see a healer, maybe there’s something we can do to…help you, or slow it down, or…make it hurt less, even. And then we’ll have more time to find something to help you.”

Still she said nothing. “Do you _want_ to lose your hand?” Callum demanded suddenly, unable to withstand her silence. “Don’t you even want to _try_ to find a way to keep it?”

Finally she spoke, ostensibly at Callum, but seeming to have a hard time meeting his eyes. “Of _course_ I don’t want – of course I – I mean, _no_ , I don’t want to lose my hand, but-“ She waved the hand in question at Ezran. “Look, I _bound myself._ And since I’m not going to kill Ezran, _my hand’s the price._ That’s how it is. And that’s fine! I’ll happily lose this damned thing if it means I don’t have to kill him.” She forced a conflicted, drawn-in smile for Ez. “You’re a good person, Ez. Worth losing my hand for, easy.”

Callum’s expression and grip both tightened, unhappy. Ez exhaled, deeply, and reached out to carefully take her ailing hand, like a mirror of Callum. “I…I appreciate that, Rayla. You’re a good person too. But you shouldn’t _have_ to lose your hand for me. You should never have been meant to kill me at all. It was because of the Dragon Prince, right? Because everyone thought he was dead – there had to be revenge? But he’s _not_ dead. And you shouldn’t have to lose your hand just because people didn’t know what really happened.” His expression went firm with resolve, eyes staring at her with unshakeable will. “This binding isn’t _right_ , Rayla. It isn’t _justice._ If we just let it take your hand off without doing anything to try to stop it – _that_ isn’t right either, don’t you see? You’ve got to let us _try_.”

Sometimes, when things were serious, and he stopped goofing around…Callum could see the future king in his brother. Could see their _dad_ in Ezran. This was undeniably one of those times. He inhaled, breath shaky, and felt so proud of Ez that it hurt. He looked up and met Rayla’s eyes as he spoke, his fingers still clutched around her own. “Maybe we _can’t_ save your hand. And…like you said, there’s worse things than losing a hand, if that’s what happens. But Ez is right – you shouldn’t _have_ to lose it. Please, Rayla. Let us at least _try_.”

She stared at them, plainly conflicted, eyes flicking between him and Ez, and then down at her hands, held in their own. She produced a tiny, nearly inaudible sigh, noticeable mainly by the slight dip of her shoulders as she exhaled. “….Fine.” She said, quiet, tired. “We can try. I don’t think it’ll do any good, but-“

She was cut off, abruptly, as Ez barrelled forwards to throw his arms around her again, sending her stumbling backwards a few steps, hand falling from Callum’s. “I’m so glad.” Ezran mumbled into her armour, and after a second of hesitation, Callum stepped forwards to join in, one arm around her and one around Ezran. She was tense, but, well, that made sense.

“…You dumb humans.” She sighed after a moment, voice exasperated and fond, and tentatively returned the embrace. She allowed it to hold for a few seconds before stepping back, expression settling into something firm. “We’ll maybe go into some towns and – _talk to healers_ , or whatever it is you think will help. But we’re not going out of our way to do it, okay? No wasting days just because you want to detour to – Human River Town, or Human Mountain Town, or wherever. And no putting our whole mission at risk!” She folded her arms and stared at them expectantly. “I’m an _elf._ You’ll be more likely to find an angry mob than a healer that’ll treat me.”

“We’ll figure something out.” Ezran said contentedly, beaming brilliantly at her, entirely satisfied with her agreement to let them _try._ She looked away after a second, and he understood why – Ez could be hard to withstand, when he was that… _bright._

“…Don’t get your hopes up.” Rayla harrumphed, not meeting their eyes, sounding rather like she was trying not to get _her_ hopes up. Callum eyed her, worried and sympathetic and not sure how to help, settling eventually on distracting her. He put a hand on her shoulder to get her to look at him, and then nodded in the direction of the flat and shapeless form of the tent.

“If it’s hard for your hand, maybe try to show me whatever it is you do to get the tent up, and you can do what I normally do.” He suggested.

Her eyes fixed solidly on his for several long moments, half-guarded and half-grateful. He felt it when her shoulder slumped, some of the tension easing from her body. “…Alright. Let’s give it a go.” She sighed, and smiled tiredly at him. After all the stress of this whole conversation, he was happier to see that smile than he could quite put into words.

His own posture loosened, as if his tension had been tied to hers, and he offered his own grateful smile in turn. “Come on, then. Camp isn’t going to make itself.”

Something about the way she looked at him seemed softer, then. Warmer, maybe. She reached out to tug him over to the tent, and he followed, wondering at the changes a difficult conversation could bring.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Timeline:** This chapter takes place very slightly on 15.05, but mostly on 16.05, day 6 since start of canon, day 4 since start of travel. (In canon, this is the day Azymondias is hatched.)
> 
>  **On geography:** if it’s not obvious by this point, I’m taking some pretty large liberties with the geography of Katolis, though its general shape remains the same. Some names of things are taken from heavily modified Latin words, some from heavily modified real European place names, and the Rhodane in particular is named after the Rhône, one of the major European rivers. Some locations in canon, like Mount Kalik and the Moon Nexus, have been shuffled around a bit, or a lot, to suit both plot and my own geographical additions.
> 
>  **On Rayla’s history:** If canon declares that some childhood event prompted Rayla’s fear of water, I’ll edit this chapter. Otherwise, I’ll go with the explanation in this chapter, because I’m somewhat tired of characters’ fears always having a conclusive instigating event. 
> 
> **On worldbuilding:** This section is pretty egregiously full of infodump, apologies in advance. I can’t not worldbuild. 
> 
> In the piaj world, medical science is relatively advanced, due to the advances in knowledge and practice that magical understanding of the world allows, as well as magical tools. Elves are considerably more advanced than humans in this respect, but various avenues of espionage usually ensure that the human kingdoms still vaguely profit from advances in Xadian medicine. The human kingdoms have recently started pioneering hollow syringes, and have these available for administering medications in the largest, wealthiest cities. They are trying very hard to figure out how Xadians make their refined antibiotics and other medicines, but they are unlikely to accomplish this easily, as the processes involve magic.
> 
> Elves call first aid first aid. Humans call it field-healing, as it exists primarily among the military for use in the field. It is becoming more common for civilian humans to learn, especially among the household staff of the nobility. Most small villages will have someone with basic field-healing, and most towns will have several, as well as a proper healer.
> 
> The defibrillation spell is **_inpulsis vita._** ‘Life shock’. When the rune is drawn and the words spoken, electric charge builds in the mage’s arms and will release through the palms of the hands, which are positioned on the patient as defibrillator pads would be. This spell acts as a biphasic defibrillator. Like real-life defibs, it only generally works on hearts that are in a ‘shockable’ rhythm – someone whose heart isn’t moving at all would get no benefit from it.  
> While casting the spell is relatively simple, actually using it properly is extremely difficult, because: 1 – the mage needs to be able to determine when the heart should be shocked, which needs either incredibly finely-tuned magical senses or otherwise a magical device to track the heart, 2 – the mage needs to be precisely aware of how long the charge takes to build before it releases, and match that delay to when the heart needs to be shocked. There is a leeway of several seconds where the charge will rest in the hands, and very skilled mages can prolong this, but after this it will release whether the patient is ready or not. Sky-healers generally need a lot of training to be able to use inpulsis vita successfully. 
> 
> The spell was developed with the help of Sky dragons, some of whom were able to feel the electrical impulses in living bodies, and who advised elf Sky mages on what was happening (electrically speaking) with certain cardiac rhythms.
> 
>  **Afterword:** this chapter took a while partially because I wanted to get chapter 6 finished before posting it and partially because, well, this is an important chapter with some emotionally charged parts and I wanted to be sure it was right. Good news, chapter 6 is finished! Also it’s 15k, which kind of explains why it took me so long. I started ch7 today and churned out a whole 2.8k scene, so that was nice. Probably don’t expect an update for another week, maybe. It’s going to start slowing down now.
> 
> Thank you so much for all the comments and support, I really really do appreciate it. If this chapter hit you in the feels, be sure to let me know. This is where I start making Rayla suffer, basically. Even just next chapter we have several thousand words of condensed Rayla suffering. (there’s also lots of fluff though!)


	6. Approaching the Belt vi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rayla’s life begins to get a whole lot more painful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content warnings:** Very viscerally-described pain.
> 
> Edited 26/11/19: Stylistic edits. S3 context edits; spoilers for s3e3.

“How are we going to do this, Claudia? It’s been _days!_ They could be anywhere!”

Claudia stood well back from the clanking commotion her brother’s pacing made in the hall, brows furrowed and fingers tapping a little nervously at her bag, hyper-aware of what she knew was in there. “Relax, Soren. It’s not _that_ bad.”

“How is it ‘not that bad’?” he demanded, stopping to whirl and face her, crossing his arms with a metallic _shhnk._ “Dad says they took a _boat_! We can’t use tracking dogs on a boat!”

She rolled her eyes, and then waved her hand dismissively for good measure. “Psh. _That’s_ not a problem. We just have to follow the river until we find where they _left_ the boat, and then the dogs can do their jobs. Finding the trail won’t be a problem. What _I’m_ worried about is catching up to them.” Her fingers stilled on the bag and its precious contents. “The scent trail won’t last if it rains, you know.”

He squinted at her, thinking it out. “So you’re saying…finding them is actually going to be easy… _unless_ it rains.”

She shot him a thumbs-up, grinning encouragingly, and after a moment, hesitantly opened her bag. In one corner were the new ingredients. The…emergency ingredients. One of which, even carefully wrapped, was nearly big enough to poke out of the bag. She ignored those, very carefully. She rooted through the rest of it, frowning thoughtfully, while Soren started pacing again. She eventually remembered to actually say something, rather than get entirely side-tracked by thoughts of spells, and affirmed “yes, Soren, that’s what I’m saying.”

He did not find this encouraging.

“It’s spring! It rains every week! Sometimes lots of times a week! And sometimes there’s even _storms!”_ As a man who regularly went about wearing a full suit of metal armour, Soren had been suitably intimidated about the dangers of being out in the open during a thunderstorm, and as such had acquired in training a fear of lightning that he’d never had as a child.

“That’s true!” She agreed brightly, still rummaging. She…just…really didn’t have many of the necessary components, did she? And even if she did…

“Claudia, why aren’t you more worried?” He stopped in front of her again, foot tapping, face kind of hilariously screwed-up. He looked like one of those puppies with the really wrinkly faces. She kind of wanted to smoosh his cheeks up to increase the resemblance. Her fingers twitched towards him and he, well-accustomed to having her as a sister, gave her a dirty look and ducked away. “ _Claudia,_ ” he complained, crossly. “This is serious!”

She eyed him, humour dimming for a second, and sighed.

Yes. Yes, it was serious. An elf assassin had somehow convinced Callum and Ez to go with her, and they had the egg of the most powerful creature in the world with them. Dad was _scared_ about the loss of that egg. Genuinely, truly _scared,_ enough that he’d told her outright that the egg was a higher priority than her brother’s life. That…was worrying.

But magic could ease a lot of ills. It was helpful like that. Claudia smiled mysteriously, and tapped the side of her nose. “If we lose the trail, there’s a tracking spell we can use, I think.” She conceded, eventually, and put a hand on his shoulder to shove him in the direction of the princes’ quarters. “We’ll need to pick up some ingredients, though. I don’t have most of what I need.”

He looked vaguely mollified, and started walking of his own accord beside her. “Okay. You’ve got a magic-tracking-thing to do. That’s…good. I think.” He allowed her to lead him along the halls, brow furrowed in thought. “So…can we just skip the ‘following them with dogs and horses for days’ thing? Just use the spell right away? That would be faster, wouldn’t it?”

She patted him on the shoulder. “Not…exactly. It’s a little complicated!”

Soren gave her his best unimpressed stare. It mostly just looked petulant, though, so she was unmoved. “Complicated, _how_?”

“Well…” Claudia smiled cheerfully. “Normally, this spell needs to be done at the top of Mount Kalik to work! Which, as you can imagine, complicates things a little.”

He stared, for a second, and then spluttered. “Mount Ka – _complicates things?_ By the time we get _up_ the mountain, they’ll be half-way to Xadia!” _Not even really an exaggeration_ , she thought. Ascending Mount Kalik couldn’t be done in less than a week, even if you were desperate. If you wanted to avoid dying from exposure, or mountain-sickness, or _both –_ well, it could take you much longer than just a week. And that wasn’t even counting the time needed to descend it afterwards.

“Yes, Soren, that _is_ what I meant by ‘complicates things’.” She agreed. “And that’s why I need to adapt it. I think if I work at it, I can adapt the spell to just need a…really _tall_ mountain, instead of the _tallest_ mountain.” Well. Tallest mountain in the Pentarchy, anyway. She had no idea if the Xadians had taller mountains or not. At any rate, the original spell wanted to be cast on the _tallest mountain_ within a certain distance. A certain _very large_ distance. She could _probably_ meddle with the boundaries of that, and make it accept the tallest mountain within, say, ten metres.

Soren made a suspicious noise at her. “But doesn’t that mean we still need to climb a mountain?”

Claudia waved dismissively at him, pulling him around the corner, just a short distance from their destination. “You _like_ climbing, Soren. You love going up on the battlements, you _know_ you do.”

“…I _do_ like climbing.” He admitted, side-eying her with a little more interest. “But wouldn’t climbing a mountain still, like, mean the princes get more time to – walk places, and stuff?”

Claudia thought of the new things in the corner of her bag, and suppressed a shiver. She wasn’t sure whether she was excited or terrified at the prospect of it, but…it would certainly be _something,_ wouldn’t it, to channel that sort of power? “Yes. Yes, it does. But you leave that to _me,_ Soren.”

She stopped them before the door, back straightening and shoulders squaring. Soren finally seemed to realise where they were. “Hey, isn’t this the-“

She pushed open the door to Callum and Ezran’s rooms, and peered around, taking in the drawings, the books, the disarray the boys’ swift exit had left the place in. Though, that could well just be boys being messy. It wasn’t as though she saw these rooms very often, after all.

“Why are we _here?_ ” Her brother asked, exasperated, as he followed her about the room, watching her go through the drawers with absolutely no idea of what she was doing. But that was okay. Claudia knew very well what she was looking for, and soon enough, she found it.

She held up the hairbrush she’d found near the bed, its bristles half-covered in useful spell material, and smiled. “That’s the first ingredient we need.” She said, satisfied, and plucked the hair from the brush. “The others…well, they’ll take a bit more work.” A smile stretched across her face, slowly.

Soren eyed her uncertainly. “You’re doing that voice again. The creepy-voice. The ‘I’m thinking about wasp butts’ voice.”

Psh. As if she’d ever be thinking about anything as useless as _wasp butts._ Claudia snorted, and tucked the clump of what looked like both princes’ hair into a secure pocket in her bag. “Come on, Sor-bear. Let’s go find your dogs.”

She led him, still-complaining, out of the room.

 

\---

 

The afternoon that Rayla finally admitted the truth about her wrist binding, the boys closed ranks around her in a way that was both bemusing and a little touching – at least at first. They stuck to her side like glue, hovering at her heels, anxiously taking every task out of her hands that they could…and while Rayla appreciated them doing their bit for the camp-stuff, the coddling got old pretty fast.

Eventually, when Calum tried to insist on carrying their bags all over to the tent himself, interposing himself between her and their stuff, she rolled her eyes and abruptly lost patience with it all. She stepped up to him, unceremoniously hauled him over her shoulder, and relished in his astonished squawk as she carried him like a very large sack of potatoes over to the tent and dumped him there. Carefully, mind, since she had no interest in hurting him, but the action was definitely best described as dumping.

Rayla straightened up, her lips twitching into a self-satisfied smile, and inspected his reaction. He was wide-eyed and open mouthed, staring up at her with the most comically astonished expression she’d seen on him yet. It was _great._ “Buh – wha-“ He stammered, ineffectually, and she smirked wider.

“Let’s get this straight, sunshine.” She told him, feeling very pleased with herself as she squared her shoulders and planted her hands on her hips. “My hand being messed up doesn’t make me _fragile_ , and you and Ez don’t need to keep bending over backwards to try to do everything for me. Alright?”

Eyes still hilariously wide, he nodded dumbly as he stared up at her. “…Alright.” He agreed, in something of a squeak.

She nodded back, exceptionally satisfied with his reaction, and turned to see what Ez had thought of the whole thing. His eyes were wide too, but he looked more delighted than astounded.

“Rayla, that was _so cool._ ” He declared, scampering up to her to beam at her from close range. “You picked up my _entire brother._ ”

She snorted, and grinned at him, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “Yep, that’s what happened. And it wasn’t even hard. He’s a skinny bugger, that one.” Ez giggled as his brother spluttered, though whether it was at her choice of words or the sentiment conveyed, she wasn’t sure. She observed the little prince for a second and then, on impulse, said “you want a go at being carried about, Ez?”

His eyes lit up. “ _Yes!_ ” he blurted, almost incredulously, as if he were shocked she’d need to ask. She huffed at him, grinned, then bent down to scoop him up, throwing him over her shoulder like she had his brother. Naturally, he was considerably lighter than even Callum, so she felt perfectly able to haul him back and forth across the camp several times to convey each of their bags, one-by-one, to the front of the tent. Just to prove she could. Callum watched with eyes wide as saucers the whole time, wordlessly taking the bags from her to stow in the space between the outer and inner tent layers. Ezran laughed madly with delight throughout the whole thing, clearly having the time of his life.

She noticed, idly, that neither of them seemed to particularly react to her picking up Ez’s bag, even with the dragon egg in it. Just the other day they’d been side-eyeing her a little watchfully whenever she was especially close to it, but now there was no trace of that, which was interesting. Maybe they were just distracted?

Ignoring that track of thought for the most part, Rayla carried Ez around the camp one last time for good measure, then set him down next to Callum, laughing a little helplessly at the looks they both gave her once they were both sat there. Callum was looking very conspicuously impressed, and Ez looking like he thought she’d hung the moon, and both of them were very clearly absolved of any misconceptions about her fragility.

“The _looks_ on your faces.” She said, shaking her head at them, and laughed again.

Callum chuckled, a little sheepish, and rubbed the back of his neck under the scarf. “Ahaha. Yeah, um, that was pretty impressive?” he offered, having apparently finally found his words. “I mean, I knew you were strong, but – wow. I don’t know if I could even pick up _Ezran._ ”

“Want to try?” The prince in question suggested, nudging him in the side, eyes bright.

He huffed. “Nah, I think I’ll pass, thanks.”

Rayla smiled with a little more warmth than she’d intended, genuinely gratified by their response. She knew, intellectually, that she was unusually strong and fast even for an assassin with her level of training…but, well, it had been a long time since that was something _surprising_ or _impressive_ to anyone, rather than just something that was expected of her. It was nice.

But that was enough ego-boosting for her for now, anyway. Time to get on with camp chores. She shook her head, as if to dispel some of the levity. “All that aside, we should make a start on dinner. Get that out of the way so we can relax a bit. Get the cooking things out of the bags for me, will you?” She said, and then turned on her foot to go arrange the already-collected campfire materials. The rocks had been lined up; she set to work putting in the wood and leaves and grasses they’d collected.

Ez arrived not long afterwards with the metal pot under one arm and the jar of leftover fish under the other. Callum followed with the other jar, laden with some remaining greenery she’d grabbed during the day, as well as, unsurprisingly, more fish. They had a fair bit of it to get through. “What are we eating tonight?”

“Thought we could warm up the fish and eat it with some greens.” She said, and inspected the jars. “Actually, have you got that little pot of jam I got from your lodge? We’ve not used that yet. Might make the fish a bit less boring.” As they would soon learn, cooking during travel was mainly a game of throwing weird flavours together and trying to create something vaguely not-bland. Even weird flavour combinations tended to be appealing after weeks of eating homogenised clumps of the same thing over and over again.

“The…jelly?” Ezran guessed, exchanging a glance with his brother.

“If that’s what you call it.”

“Huh. Fruit with fish.” He considered it. “That sounds _weird._ I’ll go get it!” He said, seemingly delighted, and ran back to the tent, little legs apparently not _that_ tired from the day of walking.

Rayla smiled faintly after him as he went, then turned to Callum, reaching to the side to fish the sparkrocks out of the pot. “Want to try starting the fire yourself today?” She offered, holding them out with her bad hand. He eyed them for a second – or maybe he was eyeing the hand – and took them with a lopsided smile.

“I’ll give it a go, sure.” He said, and leaned forwards over the to-be fire. “So, what do I do?”

It took him a fair few tries and quite a lot of ineffectual sparking before he managed it, but he got it eventually, and that was another critical travel skill learned. Which was…good. Using sparkrocks like these required the use of two hands, after all. And no matter what the boys had said on the matter, Rayla was not in the least optimistic about her chances of keeping her left hand for long.

 

\---

 

They cooked, ate, and cleaned up after themselves with increasingly-efficient coordination, and in the end were left with still a couple of hours to kill before they should be getting to sleep.

“Hah, wow. Maybe I have time to draw while _sitting down_ today.” Callum remarked when she told them that, brightening at the idea. “I mean, I do okay while I’m walking, but it’s not the same, you know?”

“You’re less likely to trip over things this way, too.” Rayla told him dryly, looking up as Ezran returned to join them near the campfire, egg held firmly in his arms. He sat down with it and shuffled up to his brother, who had already withdrawn his sketchbook.

“What are you going to draw?” he asked, watching as Callum turned the pages, settling cross-legged with the luminescent dragon egg resting comfortably in his lap.

“Not sure yet – oh, huh.” He made an interested noise as a piece of paper fell out. “Oh, I forgot about this. You were writing draconic words on here, right, Rayla?”

She blinked and looked over at her name. “Hm? Oh, yeah.” She said, and peered at the paper. “Don’t expect it’ll be anything useful though. I couldn’t think of any obvious sky magic words.”

His lips turned upwards. “Except for _fulminis._ And _inpulsis._ ” He pointed out, with a smile, and opened the paper, eyes running over her handwriting with interest. “…Huh. Ancient Draconic has different names for months and days?”

She rolled her eyes. “Ancient Draconic is where the modern month and day names _come_ from.” She corrected. “Well. Mostly.”

Ez poked his head over to look, clearly interested. “They do look kind of the same.” He commented. “So, in Draconic, my birthday would be in….” he squinted. “Martias? That one doesn’t sound _that_ much like ‘March’.”

“Mine sounds similar, but also kind of like someone’s name.” Callum commented, with an interested stare at the page. “’Julius’. Huh.”

Rayla blinked at him, mildly surprised. “Huh.” She echoed, drawing his attention.

“What is it?”

She shrugged and offered a smile. “Looks like we’re both July birthdays.” She answered, and his eyes lit up a bit, pleased at this little coincidence. His mouth opened, and anticipating the question, she told him “thirty-first” before he could ask.

His mouth closed for a moment. “Fifteenth for me.” He added, after a second, observing her with an odd look on his face, as if he’d had a weird thought and didn’t know what to do with it. She raised her eyebrows at him, waiting for him to say whatever was on his mind, but he didn’t. Just sort of scrutinised her, looking mildly uncomfortable.

“By the way,” She said, when she’d grown tired of seeing whether or not he’d say anything. “Julius _was_ someone’s name. He was an ancient Dragon King, back near the start of recorded history. Named a month after himself.” She pointed at the next month on the list. “Agustus, too.” She wasn’t exactly interested in history, but even _she_ knew that much. It was kind of interesting that these humans didn’t. They were princes, right? Which should mean they were, well, educated? She wondered what other things might be common knowledge to elves but completely unknown to humans.

There was a conspicuous, surprised pause as the two of them digested that. “Two of our months are named after _dragons?_ ” Ezran reacted first, looking down at the egg in his lap. “ _Cool,_ ” he concluded, a second later.

Her lips quirked at his enthusiasm. “I guess it is.” She agreed, and was about to point out the weekdays named for the sun and moon when Callum apparently got whatever thought he’d been having into words.

“Uh, Rayla? Can I ask something?” He rested his hands at the edges of his sketchbook, as if to give them something to do. When she glanced across at him, he seemed a little hesitant. She eyed him, and nodded, gesturing for him to speak. He mulled his words over for a few seconds before saying “I heard that elves live a long time. Is that true?”

One of her eyebrows went up. Her first thought was to say _depends on the type of elf._ Instead, she answered “well, we don’t have the typical human sub-century life expectancy, if that’s what you’re asking.” She watched him, trying to discern what exactly had put that weird look on his face. Was he _actually_ curious about elf lifespans, or-

“Does that mean you’re like, eighty years old or something?” he asked finally. “Like, do elves grow a lot slower than – hey!” He crossed his arms, an almost pouty frown settling over his face as she bent forwards and _laughed,_ loudly, raising a hand to cover her mouth as she chortled into it. “It’s a reasonable question! How am I meant to know how fast elves grow?”

She held up a finger as if to shush him, shoulders shaking helplessly with now-silent laughter, hilarity bubbling in her chest at the question. Moon and stars, humans really didn’t know _anything_ about elves, did they?

“I’m getting the idea that Rayla is not eighty years old.” Ezran announced, watching her with a little smile of his own as she managed to abate the laughs into a more restrained snickering.

“Yes, Ez, thanks for clearing that up.” Callum said grumpily, and she peered at him and his disgruntled expression and nearly started laughing all over again.

Well, it was at least still a much funnier cultural misunderstanding than the ‘blood-drinkers’ thing. “I’m only fifteen, you daft humans.” She informed them, finally, still chuckling under her breath. “We grow just as fast as you lot.” She paused, and frowned a little. “I mean, I think.” She eyed Callum, who seemed more or less of an age with her, by her standards. A bit shorter than an elf her age would usually be, but who knew if that was human-normal. Maybe he was younger than her?

Ezran hummed thoughtfully while Callum was, apparently, still processing. “So you’re a year older than Callum, then.” He concluded, looking up at his brother for confirmation.

“Yeah, seems that way.” He agreed, after a moment, and inspected her. “…Do fifteen-year-olds _usually_ get sent out as assassins, in Xadia?” His tone was dubious. “I mean, I know someone who was training as a Crownguard when he was our age, but that’s not exactly normal.”

Rayla processed the words, previous good humour dimming abruptly at the things they called to mind. She looked away. “…Not _normal_ , no. I guess I’m a bit of prodigy…and, well, because of my parents – some people thought I deserved the chance to make up for what they did.” _Some people,_ such as Runaan, the lead assassin. Quite possibly the one who’d killed these boys’ father. Coincidentally, the elf who was essentially a second father to her himself.

An elf who, very easily, might not even be alive now. _You’ve killed us all,_ she remembered once again, and felt her shoulders stiffening.

She pushed the thoughts out her mind almost violently, refusing to think of it. It wasn’t relevant. Maybe it was true, maybe it wasn’t. But it wasn’t _relevant._ It didn’t change her mission. It didn’t change _anything –_ and it wasn’t as if she could know for sure until she got home, could she? The pool with their flowers in it was _months_ away, so – it was _useless_ , to even think about it. She wouldn’t think about it. She _wouldn’t._ Her jaw clenched, and she fixed her eyes determinedly on the fire as if to distract herself.

The hand that settled on her shoulder a few moments later startled her, and she jumped a little, looking round to see Callum reaching out and Ezran looking, both of them concerned. “I’m sorry if I brought up something…difficult.” Callum said, expression vaguely guilty, and drew his hand back. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

Rayla looked at him, and at the honest concern on his face, felt an awfully multi-faceted guilt clench at her gut. It was guilt for what she’d still not told them about their father, all tied up with her own sickening fear at the thought of what might have happened to Runaan. Her right hand tingled, as if somehow aware of the binding that had fallen from it days ago.

She had to tell them. They’d find out eventually. She _had_ to tell them. But how could she? How could she possibly bring them with her into the reality where _her_ family had killed _theirs_ , and that was something they all had to live with?

She exhaled, shook her head a little, and forced a smile. “Let’s talk about something else.” She suggested, firmly, and pretended not to notice the glance that the brothers shared with each other.

Still, they humoured her, good-natured and clearly wanting to cheer her up again. “I was looking at this here.” Callum said, encouragingly, and shuffled over closer to her to point out two words on the page, near the start of where she’d written down most every idiom or phrase she could think of. Which, all told, was not many. “Is it a spell, or something?”

She inspected it, and despite her very recent dark thoughts, did huff a laugh at the example he’d chosen. “No, it’s a saying.” She informed him, lips twitching. “A popular one for Moonshadow elves, as a matter of fact.” Which was, incidentally, how she knew it.

“’Carpe noctem’?” He attempted, Ezran echoing him a second later, both becoming genuinely interested as they sank into their attempt to distract her. “What does it mean?”

“’Seize the night’.” Rayla said, with an ironic twist to her smile. “Sort of a way to say ‘make the best of your time’ or ‘live in the moment’.” Most other elves, being generally diurnal by nature, tended to use _carpe diem_ instead, but, well. It was really not surprising that Moonshadow elves preferred the nocturnal equivalent.

“That sounds like a great saying for Moon elves.” Ezran decided, staring over at her with the innocent curiosity of a child. “I’m guessing you guys like the night, huh.”

She snorted. “Moonshadow elves feel most awake at night.” She informed him, and smiled at the way his eyes widened at that tidbit of knowledge. “Most elves prefer day-time, but not us.” In theory, Startouch elves also preferred the night – but, really, it wasn’t as if anyone actually really _met_ a lot of Startouch elves these days, was it?

“Does that mean you’re sleepy in the _day_?” Ez prodded, an endless well of questions and childish fascination. Though, in fairness, his older brother was looking quite intrigued at the information, too.

Rayla eyed the brother in question a little as she answered, dryly, “It’s fine if I’ve had enough sleep.” He ducked his head and squirmed a bit, apparently recognising the gentle poke the words were at him. She wondered how much of a pain he’d be to share a tent with _this_ night, and shook her head at him.

Ez, not blind to this exchange, giggled at his brother. “Callum, have you been talking in your sleep again?”

“I have _not_ been _-_ “ He broke off in the middle of a vaguely indignant denial, expression going decidedly nonplussed as he realised he didn’t know if he was speaking truth or not. He glanced warily at Rayla. “Er.”

“Not yet, he hasn’t.” Rayla confirmed honestly, with just the hint of a smirk. “He’s like you, though, Ez. Doesn’t know how to stay put when he sleeps.” She nudged Callum where he sat beside her, a little teasingly, to try to take any bite out of the teasing.

“I see.” The little prince said thoughtfully, ignoring the increasingly flustered look of his brother. “I am very sorry for your shins.”

“Eh, they’ll be alright.” Honestly, his arms were more prone to annoying space-invasion than his legs, anyway. “I’m tough.”

“Enough about Rayla’s shins.” Callum said, firmly, cheeks a little pink from all the discussion of his unconscious-self’s behaviour. “Can we please get back to the fascinating paper full of dragon-words, maybe?”

Rayla patted him on the arm and looked over. “Go on, then.” She agreed, obligingly, and allowed herself to be drawn into a demonstration of how exactly to pronounce all the months and days, and then-

“What’s all this? You’ve not written translations for any of it.”

She peered at it, and snorted. “Moonshadow elf curses.” She answered, dryly, and smirked at how quickly that elicited Ezran’s interest.

“Ooh,” he said, staring, only for Callum to determinedly fold that corner of the page so it couldn’t be read. “ _Hey.”_ He complained.

“The king will kill me if I bring you home cursing in Draconic.” He said, firmly, unwittingly making Rayla’s gut twist yet again. “Definitely not letting you learn those if I can help it.”

“Hmph. Well, I saw some of it already, so _there._ ” Ezran declared proudly. After a moment, Rayla reached out to ruffle his hair.

“So? What did you see?” She asked, amused, determinedly ignoring her king-related troubles.

“Er.” He deflated. “Mostly I just saw the word ‘noviluna’ a lot.” Callum folded his arms, looking distinctly put out.

She huffed. “Well, on its own that one isn’t _that_ rude. Just means ‘new moon’.” She patted him consolingly. “So you’re out of luck.”

He pouted. “Aww.”

“ _’New moon’_ is rude for Moonshadow elves?” Callum asked, after a moment. “ _Why?_ ”

Rayla looked up at the sky, where the sun was nearly set, and she could feel the moon preparing to rise. Waning gibbous; still a fair while from its most unpleasant state. “…Give it a couple of weeks, and you’ll find out.” She said, a little dryly, and directed their attention to the next things on the list. There wasn’t a great deal left, maybe, but it was a way to pass time.

When they were done, Callum set the paper aside, and started a new drawing. For lack of anything better to do, Rayla sat by and watched, listening as idle conversation passed between the two princes.

It didn’t take long for the shapes on the page to become distinctly recognisable. “You’re drawing my blades?” She said, intrigued, and leaned in.

He smiled at her, just a little bashful, and nodded. “They’re pretty cool. I’ve been wanting to draw them since I used one for the fish the other day.”

“Huh.” She pronounced, after a second, newly fascinated by the process of watching him draw. It was oddly satisfying to watch the lines resolving into something recognisable, and she found herself quite interested to see how it turned out. “…Want me to get one out as a reference?”

“Thanks, but I got a pretty good look before. I’m probably fine.” He demurred, charcoal moving in quick lines over the page. It was a little baffling how he managed to draw clean lines like that with a blunt-looking stick of charcoal. When she’d written her list, the lines of her handwriting had been considerably more smudged and indistinct.

She recalled his apparent extremely good memory, and nodded, tilting her head. “Yeah, but have you seen the hook-form yet?” She inquired, unable to remember whether or not she’d used them as hooks within his eyesight or not.

He looked up from his sketchbook, flummoxed. “The _what-now?_ ”

Rayla grinned, and withdrew one of the sheathed blades. Flicked it out, then shifted it.

The reactions were exactly as appreciative as she could have hoped for. It was, she was discovering, pretty fun to travel with humans who found everything Xadian a novelty.

 

\---

 

That night, Rayla made the unpleasant discovery that her bound hand had grown sore enough that she could no longer sleep on her left side at all. She transitioned, uncomfortably, to sleeping flat on her back, and thereafter actually had a surprisingly uninterrupted night of sleep. Her hand and wrist ached ever-more awfully and woke her several times in the night, so it wasn’t perfect, but for once her tent-mates weren’t being an annoyance. Not a single time was she disturbed by an errant arm or leg. When she woke at dawn and looked over, she concluded that this was probably due to the way Callum seemed to have latched onto Ez in the night and lodged there, clinging to his brother as if he were a cuddly-toy.

It was pretty cute, actually. Especially as Ez himself was hugging the egg again, the two human princes illuminated in a soft blue by its glow between them. Three princes in a row. They made endearing enough a picture that Rayla almost felt bad that she had to wake them up.

She did it anyway.

Callum dragged himself out of the tent ten minutes later, when Rayla had sat cross-legged by the burnt-out campfire to inspect her hand, slowly flexing it back and forth and grimacing at the pain. She looked up at his approach, finding him as-expected looking pretty much dead on his feet, though a flicker of alertness came into his eyes at the sight of her hand.

“How’s it doing?” He asked, groggy, voice still rough from sleep, and settled heavily next to her, eyes still resting on her hand.

“…Not great.” She admitted, after a moment, still flexing it. “It’s pretty messed up. I can still move it if I have to, but…” It was stiff. Stiff, harder to move than it ought to be, and _painful_ to move. She remembered her thought from the other day, and tried to massage along the digits a little, tried to get some semblance of circulation into the tissues. She left white trails across the dark skin where her fingers moved, every touch painful, like pressing on a bruise.

He watched her for a few long moments, very evidently fighting his way to proper alertness, and shuffled a little closer. “Can I…?” He raised his hands slightly, nodding towards the one she was nursing, and she blinked.

A little perplexed, she turned to hold it out to him, the motion somewhat hesitant. “Sure?” She offered, and looked down to watch her hand slip into his. His skin was warm. Warmer than she expected. But then, her bound hand was colder than it should be. It was oddly nice, even so.

He inspected it, almost analytically, pressing gently against the bruise-dark skin to see it blanche and then go dark again. He looked up watchfully, every other second, as if to check in with her. “It reminds me of tourniquets. You know, for when you’ve got a really badly bleeding injury.” He said, abruptly, turning her hand over to better see her wrist where the binding held. “Field-healers get warned not to leave them on long, otherwise the limb doesn’t get enough blood, and then…well.”

“Then you end up losing it.” She said, dryly, and watched him flinch at the bluntness.

“Well, yeah.” He admitted, and inspected the binding itself. “This isn’t as tight as a tourniquet, so you’re doing better, but…it’s getting tighter, right?” He didn’t wait for an answer, instead grimacing at how high the discolouration went up her arm. Almost to her elbow, really. “Shouldn’t you take this – arm guard thing – off? It’s got to be restricting your blood flow a bit, right? Maybe not much, but…” He shrugged, a little helplessly.

She stared at him as if with new eyes for a moment, a little surprised, and looked at her gauntlet with a frown. “I didn’t think of that.” She admitted. She hadn’t thought about intentionally trying to promote blood flow, though she _should_ have. Stars, before last night, she’d even been mostly sleeping on her left. _That_ probably hadn’t helped matters at all.

“You could put it back on over the binding, maybe, a bit looser?” He suggested, inspecting where the binding was tied over the guards. “I just feel like – this thing is putting pressure on way more of your arm than it should be, because it’s squeezing your whole arm-guard down, you know?”

Rayla considered it, flexing her hand again, and tried to decide whether she thought he was right. He…might have a point. It was constricting her gauntlet, which was constricting her arm… “If I take the guard off, won’t it just squeeze my wrist tighter in that one spot?” She said, honestly curious, and joined his hands with her right to press around the binding, testing for where the pressure was.

He grimaced. “Maybe.” He admitted. “I think…it’s kind of spread out now, so it’s affecting your arm as well as your hand, and maybe it’ll be worse for your hand if it’s less spread out, but…” He shifted uneasily. “If it gets tighter, though…” He trailed off.

“If it gets tighter I might not actually be able to get my gauntlet off?” She guessed, and he nodded.

“Yeah, pretty much.” He hesitated, and then let her hand go, admitting “I’m not sure what would be better to do.” His hands settled into his lap as he slumped, watching her for her response.

She hummed, thoughtfully, and kept her hand there, suspended between them, her fingers against the binding. In the worst-case that she thought most likely, having her gauntlet under the binding would be a huge complication. If she needed to amputate the hand herself – well. Having to cut through the guard as well as the flesh and bone wouldn’t only make it astronomically harder, but it would be a horrible infection risk too.

“…I think I should take it off.” She said, and hesitated with her fingers over the fabric edge of the guard, extending to the start of her hand. “…But it might be tricky to do.” She tried, gingerly, to pull at the guard from the other side of the binding, but it didn’t budge. She pulled a little harder and then hissed at the pain, fingers flinching back reflexively.

Callum twitched beside her, and she raised her eyes to see him watching with a frown, hands ever-so-slightly raised from his lap, as if drawn out by her pain. “Is it stuck?” He asked, worriedly, and she considered it.

The gauntlet itself was semi-flexible light armour, a type of magically-woven fabric that was intensely resistant to cutting or piercing, and distributed blunt force across a fairly wide area. It could stretch, a little, to fit the wearer – but it was generally pretty stiff. It would be hard to pull out from under the binding…but maybe not impossible.

It would be painful, though. That was certain. “Yeah, kinda.” She hedged, eyeing the binding apprehensively as she positioned her fingers for another attempt. She exhaled, steeled herself, and _pulled._

The next few seconds passed strangely and not entirely coherently. She was aware of gasping with the pain – aware of dropping her fingers from the gauntlet and pulling her hand reflexively to her chest – aware of Callum’s alarmed response, the call of her name, the anxious hand resting on her arm.

“That,” She said, tightly, once her perception of time had returned to normal, “was not nice.”

“Yeah, I guessed.” He said, a little wide-eyed, and stared worriedly at her hand. “Can you get it off? Or-“ he hesitated, and left the question hanging.

“I have to. Or it’ll just get worse.” She closed her eyes to exhale through the aftershocks of pain, lingering in tender flesh and aching in her arm. “I should have thought of this earlier.” She made a disgusted noise at herself, shuffling restlessly on the damp morning-grass.

“…I realise this suggestion might be sort of in poor taste, but…do you think it would be easier in water?”

She eyed him, unimpressed. The suggestion made sense. That almost made it more annoying. “…Ugh.” She said, instead of actually answering the question. “We’ll have to try to stop near a proper water source today.”

He looked back at her, concerned and just a little wary. “Does that mean ‘yes’?”

“It means ‘you have a point, but I wish you didn’t’.” She answered, dryly, and rose to her feet. “Help me pack up the camp?”

“Sure.” Callum answered automatically, but then jerked his head towards the tent. “I think I need to go wake Ez up again, though. He should have been out by now.”

She listened for a few seconds with her head tilted, ears twitching, and snorted. “Yeah, he fell back asleep.”

He considered that, looking at her with interest. “…You have really good hearing, huh?”

Rayla reached out and lightly flicked one of his ears, grinning as he yelped. “Better than yours.” She said, a little impishly, and helped him to his feet. “Go on, then. Go wake your brother. We’ve got a long way to go today.”

“Seems we’ve got a long way to go _every_ day.” He sighed. She patted him consolingly on the shoulder.

“Pretty much, yeah. Get going, you.”

He saluted solemnly, hand over his chest. “Yes, ma’am.” He said, amused, and turned to go crawl back into the tent.

 

\---

 

It had been a week since she bound herself to Ezran’s death. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that her hand was getting so much worse – she should have expected it. But she hadn’t, and that day, the pain was so much harder to ignore. It hurt when she moved it and hurt worse when she didn’t; if she let it lay idle for long enough, a numb ache built in it that grew more insistent and distracting with every minute.

In the end, she flexed the stiff fingers and massaged the painful limb as much as she could tolerate. It hurt too, but less than leaving it alone did. Or, at least, it hurt in a slightly more bearable way.

The boys didn’t miss the signs of it, either. Even with her demonstration of strength yesterday, they hovered a little, anxious and concerned for her. It was sweet, but it was also tiring, and made it even harder to stop thinking about the pain than it should have been. She was on the verge of growing ill-tempered with it all, and wishing fervently for something to distract _herself_ as well as the boys, when an opportunity presented itself to her.

It was a few hours in, coming up to lunch-time, when she spotted the first cluster of a familiar plant in the undergrowth. It was cheerfully prolific in its spring growth, and a quick glance revealed more patches of it everywhere, calling to mind a few old memories that chased a smile onto her face. She recalled the practical use of the plant, and considered halting the boys to gather some. She recalled the entertaining use of the plant, and kept quiet. She eyed it, speculatively, and felt a spark of mischief settle in her gut.

Well. She _had_ wanted a distraction.

Nonchalantly, she allowed herself to slowly fall behind the other two, who were in the middle of discussing the various secret passages Ezran had found in Katolis over the years. She snatched up a large handful of plant, familiarly-textured, and snuck up behind Callum with her lightest, stealthiest stride to affix it carefully to his back. As expected, the minutely-hooked texture of the plant’s surface stuck immediately to the fabric of his jacket, clinging there easily. She managed to stick three more stalks of leafy greenery to his back before Ezran noticed her, catching her eye over his shoulder, step faltering as he looked between her and the plants in her hand and Callum’s back.

Then he giggled. Callum stopped to glance at him, and Rayla neatly side-stepped out of the way to avoid running into his back, grinning a little as she held a finger up to her lips to shush Ezran…and reached out to attach another cluster of sticky leaves to Callum’s jacket, this time more on his right-hand side than his back.

“What?” Callum asked, perplexed, and then – perhaps clued in by where Ezran was looking – twisted to look over his shoulder and see her on his opposite side. He jumped a little, startled to find her there, in yet more evidence that his situational awareness needed work. “Er. Rayla? What are you-“ Finally, he noticed the plant in her hands and the smirk on her lips, and slowly raised his hand to his back. He found the cluster on his side, first, and peeled a leaf away. He turned to stare at her, utterly bemused. “ _Stickyweed?_ Really?”

With that tiny bit of subterfuge revealed, Ezran collapsed into giggles. Rayla watched as Callum’s lips twitched upwards, automatically responding to the humour, before he schooled his features into an unconvincing facsimile of seriousness.

“Why not?” She quipped, feeling impish, and reached out to affix another piece to his collar. “It’s traditional.”

“It’s traditional to _stick plants_ to your travelling companions?” He asked, clearly trying very hard to appear unamused, and not really succeeding. His lips kept twitching.

“It’s traditional to stick stickyweed to people’s backs without them noticing.” She corrected…and backed away, brandishing her last handful. “…And also, to throw it at each other.” Realisation dawned on his face a second too late; she lobbed the plant at him and absconded just as he started ducking out of the way, finally abandoning his pretences and laughing helplessly. The sound of it prompted a little thrill of delight in her gut as she fled for the underbrush, a grin stretching on her face.

Ezran got the idea, and dove for the nearest cluster of the prolific weed, snatching it up in chunks to arm himself. Rayla had already re-supplied, and jumped into the nearest tree to assail both of her travelling companions from higher ground, pelting them with handfuls of her ammunition.

“That’s no fair!” Ez shrieked, plainly delighted, as greenery landed in his hair. With a slightly alarmed grumbling, Bait hopped for cover under a nearby bush. “We can’t reach you up there!” He gathered up a larger armful of stickyweed and stared up at her. She stuck her tongue out at him.

“Yes, we can.” It took her a moment to process the voice as Callum’s – she wasn’t sure she’d heard that sort of voice from him before. Confident, a little secretive, a little excited. She looked over at him. She saw the mischievous spark in the green of his eyes…and what he had in his hand.

He was holding the primal stone.

She understood his intent at the exact second Ez did. “ _Oh_ no you don’t-“ She started, just before Callum drew a familiar rune in the air. “Ah.” She said, eloquently, and jumped for the next tree, laughing as she went.

“Get ready, Ez!” Callum’s voice followed, full of anticipation-

“Ready!” The littlest prince reported, just as eager-

“ _Aspiro!”_

Rayla landed on the next tree’s branches, anchored herself to it with a hook-blade to weather the coming wind-storm, and resigned herself to her fate.

 

\---

 

“Well, that was fun.” Callum said, ten minutes later, when Rayla still hadn’t finished peeling the stickyweed from her armour and hair. “If unexpected. And kinda silly.”

“Eh, we were due for a lunch break anyway. And besides, it served a purpose. Sort of.” She flashed a grin at the two princes, brandishing the large bundle of somewhat bruised stickyweed at them. “This stuff? Is edible.”

Ezran did a double-take at the plant pile she’d amassed at her side. “What, really?” Bait made a dubious noise, and shot out his tongue to imbibe one of the plant stalks. He turned a mild shade of green thereafter, croaking discontentedly.

“It’s kind of nasty to eat raw, but yeah.” She agreed, planting herself by a nearby cluster of the stuff to pick some more. “We’ll cook it to make it a bit nicer. Since we’ve run out of fish, we’ve got to stock up on _something_ for tonight.”

Callum caught her eye, then; a meaningful sort of look that she assumed was related to their previous discussion about hunting. She nodded slightly – they’d have to talk about it soon. Maybe not now, though.

“…Do we have anything for lunch?” Ez asked, oblivious to this exchange as he looked at the stickyweed. “I didn’t even realise we finished the fish this morning.”

Rayla looked at him for a second, reminded anew of how vastly different his upbringing had been from hers. Of course he hadn’t noticed them running out. He was so used to having food provided for him, he probably didn’t even realise that keeping yourselves fed was actually a bit of a task out in the wilderness. He probably hadn’t even _considered_ the idea that they might need to hunt to give their diet some substance.

Well. She’d leave Callum to figure out how to bring that up, she supposed. “I can go look for some fruit, if you like.” She offered, setting the bundle of weeds aside. “Might take me a while, though. You don’t get as many fruiting plants in this sort of forest.” Soon, there would be almost no fruiting plants at all, and probably no useful fruiting trees. Already, pretty much every tree around them was a conifer or a pine or a fir.

The two boys blinked and looked about them, bemused. Callum spoke, this time. “…There’s different sorts of forest?”

She groaned, and let her head fall back, perhaps a little over-dramatically. “ _Yes,_ Callum, there’s different sorts of forest.” She said, exasperated. Then, since she was already leaning over backwards, she engaged in a slightly unnecessary backflip to get to her feet, stretching out. “And in this one, there’s not as much fruit.” She pointed at the primal stone, still out of its bag from recent use. “Keep that handy, alright? I might be a while.” She pulled her bag up to extract one of the large jars from it.

“…Alright.” Callum said, and apparently anticipating her next action, opened his bag to pull out a jar. He offered it out to her and watched as she stacked it under her arm with the other one.

Without further ado, she set off at a run amongst the trunks of the trees – because these trees almost exclusively had needles, not leaves, and those were kind of prickly to climb in. Especially with one hand increasingly out-of-commission.

As she’d expected, it took her a while to find anything that was not only the sort of plant that had useful fruit, but that actually had ripe fruit on it. She raided a small moonberry bush with very little on it, found a weedy young apple tree with a few ripe-looking fruits, and in general had to make a pretty wide and extensive circuit of the area to find enough to fill the jars.

She also found clusters of two useful medicinal plants, and made certain to pocket those, too.

In the end, it took her an uncomfortably long time – the better part of an hour, in fact – to find enough fruit, but she headed back with plenty to share. She found the princes looking over Callum’s sketchbook, talking over it while Callum’s charcoal hovered over the page. When she drew a little closer, she saw that they were looking at the map.

As was admittedly becoming habit for her, she approached smoothly and quietly to see if they’d notice her. She wasn’t exactly _hiding_ herself – she was walking up to them from their left – but somewhat predictably, they didn’t notice her until she was practically on top of them.

“Oh, hi Rayla!” Ez chirped, as he saw her, and Callum looked up as well. “You’re back!”

“However did you notice?” She said, tone dry, and sat down beside them, planting the jars there. “What are you up to, anyway?”

Callum’s eyes brightened at the question, and he tilted the map towards her. “Ez and I were talking – you know, about how we’re going to help your hand.”

Her lips turned down. “ _Oh._ ” She said, uneasily.

As if hastened by this mild expression of disapproval, he practically hurried to point out a spot on the map to her. “We’re heading into the mountains this way, right? Well, along the way is this town called Verdorn? It’s big enough that it _should_ have a healer. We don’t have to detour or anything to go there, and we’ll probably get there sometime tomorrow, so…” he trailed off, shuffling with what looked like an awkward mix of nervousness and excitement. “Well, what do you think?” He asked, after a few seconds.

She stared at the map a little inscrutably, keeping the best grip on her reactions she could. “…I don’t know, Callum.” She said, eventually, and her gut churned as his face fell. She sighed, settling her good hand over the painful one to massage the sore, prickling flesh. She attempted a smile, but it came out feeling more like a grimace. “I… _appreciate_ what you’re doing. But how do you think you’ll get a healer to look at me, even if there _is_ one?”

He perked up a little at that, Ezran mirroring the response beside him. “Well, actually, we were thinking – what if we _don’t_ get a healer to look at you?”

Her brow furrowed at him. “Well yeah, _that_ makes sense.” She said, with plain sarcasm, and waited for an explanation to be forthcoming.

“No, I mean – what if me and Ez go to talk to a healer _without_ you?” He pressed, increasingly earnest, Ez nodding hopefully by his side. “We can just say you’re a friend of ours and that you think there’s no point in seeing a healer – which, can I say, is actually _true_! – but that we wanted to get some advice anyway. That way we can find out if there’s anything a normal human non-magic healer could do for your hand.”

She folded her arms, eyeing the two of them with a sort of reluctant interest as Callum spoke. “…And if there _is?_ What do we do then?” She ruthlessly clamped down on any part of her that felt inclined to start appreciating that _‘if’_ , to actually consider that fleeting avenue of hope.

“Well, maybe there’s some sort of medicine we can bring back without a healer having to see you at all.” He pointed out, reasonably. “If there isn’t…I guess we figure that out when we get there. But it’s worth a shot, don’t you think?”

“You _said_ you’d let us try.” Ezran reminded her, a little anxiously, as if worried she was going to back out of the agreement.

She stared at them, maintaining her rigid control over the churning of emotions in her gut, eyes flickering between two sets of expressions. Both worried, a little nervous, a little determined. Hopeful, even. How could they be so _hopeful_ about something like this? There was _no way,_ none whatsoever, that her hand would last long enough for them to get to Xadia. She’d be lucky to have another _week,_ at the rate it was going, and every day of it would be painful.

Part of her wanted to put her foot down. Put a stop to this, get them past this fruitless, pointless _hope_ of theirs before it hurt them too much.

“You _said.”_ Ez repeated, as her silence persisted, eyes wide and worried.

She exhaled, quietly.

She _had_ agreed to let them try.

And this town _was_ on the way.

“Fine.” She said, voice carefully neutral, and watched as the tension in the two boys practically fled them with their breath as they exhaled. “We’ll stop by this human town. But we’re not stayin’ there any longer than we have to, alright? We can’t waste time.”

“Of course. Thanks, Rayla.” Callum said, sounding absurdly grateful for what was an acquiescence to let _them_ try to find some help for _her_ hand. It was a little ridiculous, in all honesty. They’d only known her for what, five days? Why in Xadia’s name did they _care_ so much?

She sighed, and shook her head a little. “Get some lunch in you. If we’re going to a town tomorrow, I’d prefer not to get there too late.” She told them, and went to extract some fruit from one of the jars. The apples turned out to be too sour to eat raw, so she put those aside to use in cooking.

Rayla ate, then bundled up the stickyweed into their bags and waited impatiently for the boys to finish their share. As soon as she could, she urged them on again.

She could just _tell_ that the human-town-thing was going to waste time. Best get as much ground covered today as possible, to make up for it.

 

\----

 

About an hour after resuming travel, Rayla heard the tell-tale sounds of some sort of running water nearby, and begrudgingly altered their course in its direction. It turned out to be a reasonably-sized brook – too wide and deep to qualify as a stream, but not big enough for her to really call it a river. The sound and sight of the running water put her on edge regardless, but given she needed access to a decent water source at camp today, she gritted her teeth and resolved to put up with it.

She directed the boys up-stream for a while, following their correct course of travel, and eventually selected a serviceable campsite a couple of hours after their lunch. Here, in the coniferous forest, the ground was loose and loamy, mainly composed of many years’ worth of fallen needle-leaves, as was typical in this sort of forest. There was a lot less ground-level plant cover even than there had been a few hours ago, testament to the increasingly boreal nature of the landscape. There were clusters of rich green ferns here and there, and some patches of nettles, and a good few mosses here and there, but…

“We’re starting to gain altitude, I think.” She estimated, after a careful glance over the surroundings. “It’s already a little colder.”

“Well, there _were_ an uncomfortable number of uphill parts today, so makes sense.” Said Callum, who was lingering awkwardly at her back. After a moment she realised she hadn’t actually announced they were stopping, and set the tent pack down as a more overt sign that they were done for the day. “I hope tomorrow will be a little flatter.”

Rayla, who had found the day’s walk mostly very easy aside from the part where her hand was increasingly painful, said nothing for several conspicuous moments. Given the next leg of their journey was pretty much entirely uphill, she was increasingly certain that the boys were going to have a very unpleasant time of things soon. But, she supposed, _she’d_ be having a very unpleasant time of things with her binding, so at least their misery would have company. “…Sure.” She agreed, unconvincingly, and did not mention that the day would probably come soon where they’d need to ascend most of a kilometre in a single day’s walking.

“We’re camping here, right?” Ezran checked, after glancing at where she’d put the tent-pack. He waited for her nod before sighing with relief. “Oh good.” He said, setting his own bag down. Callum quickly followed suit, glancing around. The forest was relatively sparse here, consisting mainly of tall conifers that towered far, far over their heads. A little way to their left was a secluded hollow where the brook ran to and pooled, a pretty ideal location for washing things or collecting water. All the tall trees would make for a terrible campsite in a storm, but luckily, the weather was perfectly clement today.

Rayla’s hand ached at her, as if to remind her what she had to get done soon. She flexed it, casting a glance about the camp, and sighed. “We’d best get set up quickly.” She said, a little grimly.

Ez perked up. “Tent first?”

“Tent first,” She agreed, and set them about the tasks with increasing familiarity and ease. Callum had to handle the difficult part of getting the tent up, since she was increasingly hampered by the lack of a properly-usable hand. When that was done, she and Ezran went to get firewood while Callum sorted out the inner-tent, and their camp was pretty much complete.

“We’re getting pretty quick at this.” Ezran declared, not long after, when she’d set all the cooking things and food jars next to the area marked out for the fire. “It’s only been a few times but we’re already _way_ better.”

Rayla’s lips twitched upwards, and she reached over to ruffle his hair. “You are picking things up nicely.” She agreed, amused. “Now I just need to teach you how to cook, I suppose.”

“Can I try starting the fire this time?” He asked eagerly, and Callum shot him a slightly wide-eyed look.

“….We’ll see.” Rayla said, after seeing that expression on the older prince’s face, and resolved to ask later. “For now, I’ve got something I need to take care of.” She eyed her hand, exhaled slowly, and had a look through her bag. She made a disapproving noise. “Callum, I think you’re carrying the soap. Find that for me, would you?”

He blinked. “Uh, sure?” He agreed automatically, and then pulled his bag over to look. He passed over the soap and then the towel for good measure, eyes flickering between her face and her hand. “Are you going to – I mean-“

“I need to try to get this gauntlet off.” She said, grim, and took both proffered items with her better hand. “I’ll be back in a while.” She stood, and stalked off towards the small, steep slope overlooking the watery hollow. She heard the scuffling of the others following after her and sighed, skidding down the modest slope and crouching beside the brook as she watched flatly in the direction of their approach.

She fixed them both with a grimace when they arrived, worried faces staring at her. “Er.” Said Callum, uncertainly. “Can we help, or…?”

“Probably not.” She said, shortly, and eyed them. The binding had been painful and tender enough to test this morning, and she had absolutely no reason to believe it would be any gentler on her this afternoon. She wasn’t entirely pleased at the prospect of having them both here for this, when she _knew_ it was going to hurt. Hurt badly enough that – well, she’d almost certainly have a hard time keeping her composure.

She particularly was not happy about having Ezran there – he was a _kid,_ and a highly empathetic kid at that. There was _no way_ this wouldn’t upset him. “Look. There’s really no reason for you two to stick around watching me hurt myself, alright? Just…go back to the camp and get the fire going.”

Ezran actually glared at her for that, putting his little hands on his hips as if she’d offended him with the very suggestion. “No _way._ ” He said, indignantly. “Even if I can’t help, I’m not gonna just leave you here alone if you’ll be in pain.” Stubbornly, he planted himself beside her, on the side of her good arm. He folded his arms, as if to cement his immovability.

Rayla huffed at him, not sure whether to be touched or annoyed, only to have Callum kneel down at her left, looking less bull-headed about things than his brother, but fairly resolute in and of himself. He wasn’t going to be any more sensible about this than Ezran, it seemed. She grimaced, shoulders hunching, and hoped that her expression properly conveyed her displeasure with their persistence.

He presented her with a somewhat strained smile, the lines of his face creasing with worry. “We can be moral support, if nothing else.” He offered, and looked down at her hands. “…What are you going to do?”

She exhaled, slowly, and looked out into the burbling water of the brook. For once, the dread of the coming pain was almost more insistent than her dread of the water. “Soap and water should make the binding and guard more slippery.” She said, after a moment, and leaned over to douse her left hand and wrist in the chilly water.

It almost felt pleasant – cool and soothing. The cold ached at the already-aching limb, intensified the burning sensation in some of the skin and intensified the numbness in other places, but…the chill of it was still something of a relief. She closed her eyes, briefly, and then withdrew her hand to start slathering it with the soap. It would be murder on the soap itself – she’d likely run through a lot of the bar with this, but it was sort of unavoidable, really. A _waste_ , she couldn’t help but think, even if she really did need to use it.

Why couldn’t she have thought about her stupid arm-guard days ago? It would have saved her so much trouble. And so much soap.

Eventually, her hand and that which bound it were about as soap-slippery as they would ever get, and she put the bar aside to hesitate. The boys watched her all the while, quietly anxious in a way that couldn’t help but grate at her a little. She’d have really preferred to handle this alone, without anyone else there to watch her in pain. The vulnerability of it nagged at her, persistent, as she stared at her hand and tried to muster the will to do something about it. Moon help her, if she found it this hard to get herself to pull a bloody gauntlet off, how would she ever make herself cut her hand off when she needed to?

She breathed in, then out, reaching out to pinch the edge of the guard, where it sat not too far from the darkened skin of her knuckles. She braced herself, then pulled.

The pain was immediate, and viciously intense. She clamped her teeth shut along with her eyes and strangled the shriek that wanted to escape from her throat. The pitiful edges of it emerged regardless, in an agonised wheeze that hissed between her teeth and set Callum and Ezran to fluttering with concern. She was aware of their clamouring more by the sounds of them moving than from anything else; she inhaled and exhaled in short bursts for the next few seconds, then opened her eyes.

The bloody gauntlet had barely _budged._ She quashed the pang of hopelessness it provoked, and tried to regain her focus. She exhaled, steeled herself, and then pulled again.

This time she was a little more ready for the pain – she kept her eyes open, and kept at it, tugging and yanking at the cursed thing with all the bloody-minded determination she could muster, the pain of every movement seething up her arm like sun-fire and building into a sickening agony intense enough she wasn’t sure how much longer she’d last. She pulled her gauntlet something like a centimetre past the binding and then couldn’t manage anymore – she collapsed in on herself, clutching her hand to her chest and panting heavily, a cold sweat building on her brow. She’d ground her teeth together so hard it was beginning to hurt.

“…You got it to move a bit that time.” Ezran offered, in a very small voice, from beside her. She cracked open an eye to peer at him, her body trembling from the after-shocks of the pain. Her gut clenched at the expression on his face; he’d paled a bit, and his eyes were wide and near-frightened, his whole bearing painted with pain – almost as if he were acting as a mirror to some vestige of her own suffering. His distress was awfully obvious – and didn’t he _see_ this was why she hadn’t wanted him to watch?

“…A little.” She agreed, quiet, unclenching her jaw just enough to let words escape past her teeth. Her jaw ached, a small and meaningless pain compared with the one that pulsed hotly in her arm with every passing heartbeat. She almost wanted to avoid looking at Callum, not quite wanting to see how _he_ was reacting to this, but she looked anyway. That was hard to endure, too. His expression was tight with concern, fists clenched white-knuckled in his lap, eyes glued to her hand as if unable to look away.

She lowered her gaze again, breath shuddering, and closed her eyes. Held her fingers tight in the armour-weave, and started her ordeal once more.

Every millimetre of progress cost her dearly. The binding clung fiercely to the gauntlet and did not want to let it go – she pulled, and hurt, and felt sweat bead on her brow and drip down her face from the sheer agony of it, again and again. She forced herself back every time, gritting her teeth to try to keep quiet, but it got so much harder to keep doing it.

The boys sat in near-silence, their own faces pale and getting paler every time they saw her have to stop to catch her breath, every time she strangled the shrieks in her throat, every time she couldn’t quite stop the hisses and gasps of pain at the barrier of her teeth. Callum started fidgeting, in sharp and jittery movements, agitated into restlessness by her pain.

She forced three pitiful centimetres of the gauntlet past the binding before her will eroded completely. Her hands wavered, trembling horribly in front of her, healthy fingers shaking around their grip of the fabric. She hunched forwards and panted, every inch of her feeling cold and clammy and damp, the pain in her hand burning long after she stopped actively agitating it. She tried to muster the will to pull the thing again, but couldn’t quite seem to do it. Her fingers twitched on the fabric, but that was all.

Frustrated, and still in the grips of likely the worst pain of her life, Rayla’s breath shuddered, and she closed her eyes.

She couldn’t do it. She’d overestimated her tolerance for pain. She was too weak to see it through.

Maybe…maybe she’d be able to do more after a break? And then she could try again? But…no. That would just draw it out longer. And she didn’t want to waste the soap that had gone into this pursuit, or this whole thing would be wasteful as well as agonising, and she’d _come this far –_ why couldn’t she just – just do a _little_ more. Just a _bit_. She stared at her fingers, weak and shaking on the fabric, and tried to will herself to pull. Tried to be as strong as she was meant to be. As she _had_ to be.

But she couldn’t.

She exhaled, heavy, and let her head fall forwards as she let her fingers fall from the gauntlet. Bitter, helpless frustration burned in her throat like acid, like gall.

A voice. “…Rayla?” It was Callum. Worried, uncertain. She couldn’t quite muster the strength to straighten enough to look at him.

“…Are you okay?” Ez’s voice was very small. “You’re in a lot of pain.”

“I’m just _peachy.”_ She managed, after a few seconds. The fact that she couldn’t quite muster the vehemence to make the words sound sarcastic, rather than just exhausted, was testament enough to how off-balance she was. She breathed in, breathed out. Tried to use Runaan’s meditation tricks to find some part of herself that didn’t exist adrift in pain, that could be calm and steady and stable in the midst of it. “…I’ll keep going in a second. Just need…” She exhaled, shaky. “Just need to catch my breath a little.”

She could practically _feel_ the glance the princes exchanged over her head. She heard Callum shuffle at her left. “Rayla,” he said again, this time quietly insistent. Gentle, but determined. She mustered the forbearance to look up at him…and found the same calm, concerned resolve on his face as she’d heard in his voice. He lifted his hands, just a little, in her direction. “Let me help. _Please_.”

Rayla stared at him, a little blearily, as she tried to comprehend what exactly he intended to help. The pain left so little room in her mind for thought. “…How?” She asked, and couldn’t quite keep all of the helplessness from her voice. “It’s just… _stuck._ ”

“Maybe. But it’ll be easier for me to do it than for you to try pulling something off your own hand, considering it hurts this much.” He hesitated a little, then moved his hands towards hers, gently moving her fingers aside to put his own in their place. She didn’t try to resist, or pull away, only watched with a strange exhausted passivity as he lodged the nails of one hand carefully around the edges of the binding. It made sense, maybe. If he could stop the gauntlet from tugging on the _binding_ itself by holding the binding back, it might be easier.

She exhaled, and let her arm go limp, renouncing her bound hand into Callum’s care. He adjusted automatically to support it over his knee as he shifted closer, glancing between her face and her hand with obvious reluctance. He didn’t want to hurt her. “…Do it.” She ordered him, before she could say ‘ _no, leave it’;_ before she could let her impulses make a coward of her.

His eyes met hers, for a second. He nodded, almost more to himself than to her, and set the fingers of his other hand at the arm-guard. He took a deep breath, easily audible at this close range, and pulled.

She hissed, clacking her teeth together to stifle any greater sound. Callum’s effort wavered and hesitated for a second, like he might call it off on account of causing her pain, so she turned her eyes to glare at him until he kept going. And he did.

It _hurt._ It hurt horribly. The area where the binding sat was now so tender that the slightest pressure was painful, and this was _well_ beyond a light pressure. It felt like – like digging fingers into a raw bruise, like poking at an open wound, like squeezing around the site of a broken bone; it sent shocks of agony shooting up her arm and overflowed quickly to the rest of her body. She clamped her eyes shut and curled forwards, suddenly grateful beyond words that she didn’t have to endure the pain and perpetuate it at the same time. She clenched the fingers of her other hand into a fist at her side, nails digging into her palms.

She lost track of time for a while, then. Intermittently, she was aware of things. Once, she gasped with the pain, unable to entirely stifle it. At some point, Ezran’s little hand curled around the one she had at her side, and held it faithfully while she huffed and panted like a wounded animal. She heard Callum speaking, from time to time, soothing innocuous things, like “easy,” and “hang in there, it’s almost done.” If she’d had the presence of mind to actually process speech properly, that last one might have brought her considerable relief.

As it was, she was half out of her mind with pain and entirely uncomprehending when it suddenly stopped. Of course, it wasn’t like the pain actually _went away_ ; the shocks of it kept travelling up along her body, the site of the binding seethed with heat and agony, and she doubted any of that would pass away soon. But the pulling stopped, and so did the new waves of pain.

She cracked her eyes open, almost bewildered, and didn’t quite comprehend what she saw.

“There. It’s done. It’s finished.” Callum was saying, voice low and soothing and oddly comforting. She heard the words, but like the sight in front of her, it took much longer than it ought for her to understand.

Her hand was dark and awful, sat in Callum’s hands. The skin around the binding looked angry and swollen, as horribly tender as it felt. But…it was the _skin._ Just the skin. The accursed gauntlet was on the ground by her knee.

She stared, and breathed out, shaky. “…Oh.” She said, lamely, and kept staring.

“How are you doing?” He asked her, still in that quiet, reassuring tone.

Rayla breathed in, and out, and in again. Her final exhalation was gusty and trembled along every second. Her heartbeat felt thin and thready against the skin of her neck. She swore she could feel it in her horns, even. “…I’m not sure?” She managed, voice oddly crackly, and tried to clear her throat. Her mind was oddly blank and sluggish. Her skin was cold. She shook her head, in some unsuccessful attempt to dislodge its haze, and exhaled again. “ _Fuck,_ that was horrible,” She added finally, finding the capacity to be emphatic about it, and didn’t even notice she’d sworn aloud for several seconds.

She thought even Runaan would forgive her it in this situation, though. The boys certainly didn’t flinch at it.

“You had a hard time.” Ezran said to her, voice just a little distressed, and she realised he was still holding her hand. “You did really good.”

Rayla might have felt patronised by words like that, under ordinary circumstances. She couldn’t quite object to it now. It had really been an ordeal to get that thing off. In the end, she said nothing, and kept staring down at her discoloured skin, so starkly contrasted against Callum’s own hands.

“…I think it might help the pain a little if you run it in the water for a while.” Callum said to her, a moment later. “Bring the inflammation down a bit, maybe.”

“…A’ight.” She acquiesced, a little numbly, too off-balance to even have much objection to the water. She let him lower her hand forwards into the brook like a marionette, and felt the cold of the water as a shocking relief against the heated pain around the binding. It was cold enough that it hurt, too, aching in her skin and the joints of her fingers in a chill so pronounced it was almost a burn, but it was still an unbelievable relief. She shuddered, and kept her hand in the water as Callum’s hands drew back.

“Stay there for a while, alright?” He murmured to her, gentle, and leaned back. He rested a comforting hand on her shoulder for a few seconds, solid and warm against the cold sweat that had built on every inch of her skin. “Let the cold water help, and rest for a bit. I’ll go get the fire started so you can just sit here.” He waited a few moments, perhaps to see if she’d say anything, but words were hard to summon right now. He nodded, withdrew his hand, and stood. “Stay with her, Ez?”

“Duh.” Said Ezran, little hand resting persistently over hers.

Callum hesitated, just for a second, and then walked away. She felt his absence more keenly than she ought, and shivered with her hand in the cold water. “…I should really be doing something.” She mumbled, almost more to herself than to Ezran. It felt strange to sit here, still and useless, while others were off being productive.

“No you really shouldn’t.” Ez refuted, firmly, and shuffled against her side. “You’re still hurting. You need to rest for a while.”

Her limbs still felt shaky. Her whole body felt wrung-out and exhausted, and probably not fit for anything especially strenuous. The stink of the stress-sweat was starting to set in, acrid and harsh, as if to remind her what she’d endured, and her skin was still clammy with it.

She shivered, increasingly cold, and sighed. “….Alright.” She agreed, quietly. “But once he gets that fire going, I’m going to want to go sit next to it for a while. ‘s a bit chilly.”

With each passing second, the chilly brook exorcised more and more sensation from her hand, leaving nothing except a cold ache. It was comfortingly uniform. None of the prickling, or burning, or other flavours of pain she’d been growing familiar with. It would almost be pleasant, if not for the fact that it was water, and that it was making her so cold.

Ezran’s hand on hers remained, a spot of warmth in the afternoon. “Sounds good to me.” He said, and didn’t budge an inch.

Rayla stared out at the flow of the water, as numb to its fear as she was to the ache of her hand, and found herself feeling begrudgingly grateful for water for perhaps the first time in her life. Who knew – maybe this experience would make her hate water a little less? She snorted, softly, at the notion. _As if,_ she thought, a little derisively, and watched the brook as it burbled gently over the rocks and debris in its path.

Soon. Soon she’d have to get up and make herself useful, or get dinner going, or in general stop wallowing uselessly beside the littlest Prince of Katolis. Soon…but not now.

Rayla exhaled, slow, and settled into a tired slump at the water’s edge, allowing it to chase away the ills the day had wrought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Timeline:** Occurs on **16.05** (day 6) and **17.05** (day 7). Subtract two days to determine time since leaving Katolis. Please note that 17th of May is canonically Runaan’s birthday and he’s spending it in a dark magic dungeon, poor guy. Who knows, we might even get a look at him, soon! (soon means chapter 8, according to current arrangement).
> 
>  **Canon Divergences:** Mount Kalik is absolutely immense, and Claudia and Soren absolutely cannot scale that in enough time for it to be worth it. If they want to – very, very eventually – catch the kids, they’ll need a…creative solution. Possibly several creative solutions. 
> 
> **On Worldbuilding:** Carpe Noctem and Carpe Diem taken directly from Latin. 
> 
> And, for anyone interested, the calendar months: Januaris, Februaris, Martias, Avrilas, Maius, Iunias, Julius, Agustus, Septevis, Octovis, Novevis, Decevis. These are derived from the Roman month names or the old/middle English names as I preferred, but still modified. Note: I’m pronouncing ‘Decevis’ like de-che-vis.
> 
> The weekdays, derived from Latin and modified: Lunadis, Martedis, Mercuridis, Jovidis, Veneridis, Saturnidis, Soladis. 
> 
> Some Moonshadow elf curses (and other elf curses) still use Draconic, and generally they centre around the New Moon or general absences of the Moon or moonlight. The New Moon is a bit of a bitch for Moonshadow elves, for multiple reasons. (The first New Moon of piaj is scheduled for Day 17, and will elaborate on this.) The most commonly used elf-specific curses are not in Draconic, and the use of Draconic curses makes one seem vaguely old-fashioned and/or dramatic – except on the New Moon, where everyone does it. 
> 
> Of the Draconic curses, the most commonly used one is _futtanovil_ , an adaptation of a longer curse that originally meant ‘fuck the new moon and everything even vaguely related to it’. In its colloquial abbreviated state it still evokes the same meaning. Of non-Draconic curses, ‘Moonless’ is most used, a common modifier to any number of curses or insults. Example: _that ruddy moonless bastard._ Example 2: _it was a cursed, moonless bitch of a day._
> 
> All completely made up by me, because as previously discussed, I can’t not worldbuild.
> 
>  **Other notes:** Rayla uses pretty much a one-armed fireman’s carry on Callum and Ez this chapter. Do I believe her capable of carrying someone her own body weight or heavier? I absolutely do. And I wanted Callum and Ez to know it, too.
> 
>  _Stickyweed:_ more properly known as gooseweed, or about ten other names, this plant is found basically everywhere, and is covered in tiny hooks that make it stick very readily to things. Its seeds are spherical, also sticky, and are commonly found in the fur of animals. I walk past about ten patches of this stuff every time I walk into town. It is, in fact, edible by humans. However, the use of it I remember most fondly as a child is the one enacted in this chapter. And, might I add, I feel that Moonshadow elf children probably have a great time playing games that involve sneaking up on people to hang plants on their backs. Who knows, maybe it’s even encouraged as fun training for the assassin kids. 
> 
> This chapter, specifically the gauntlet scene, contains a reference to a relatively famous episode of a classic sci-fi! We’re talking 60s sci-fi. I’m interested to see if any of you get it.
> 
> Total written content for piaj now exceeds 130k. Chapter 7 is complete, and around 10k long. Chapter 8 is currently about 6k long, and is probably going to exceed 10k
> 
> If you enjoyed this chapter, please take the time to enrich my story stats in some way. It is no exaggeration to say that I check them several times a day.


	7. Approaching the Belt vii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rayla recovers from a brief but unpleasant ordeal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edits: 26/11/19: minor stylistic changes, and some more involved edits to the clothing stuff. This is s3-informed, but not exactly spoilers.

It felt like hours had passed since they stopped here. Hours, at the very least, since they made the camp, and set everything up, and Rayla went grimly down by the water to remove the gauntlet.

It seemed that pain had a way of making time pass strangely. She’d never quite realised that until now, sitting by a cold brook and knowing from the pull of the Moon on her bones that – in reality – barely any time had passed at all. It couldn’t have even been an _hour_. It was still _mid-afternoon_. The _sun was still high_ , for pity’s sake. She’d been through a highly unpleasant ordeal and felt so exhausted and wrung-out that she may as well have been running uphill for hours, but…the sun was still high.

Rayla looked up at the light filtering through the boughs of the tall trees, and shivered. It felt like it should be evening. Like the sun should be setting, like dusk-colours should be spreading in the sky, like the moon ought to be starting its ascent over the lip of the horizon…

But the sun was still high. It was barely mid-afternoon, and she felt utterly wrecked.

“…Are you okay?” Ez asked, a small and solid presence beside her.

“…Bit cold.” She said, after a moment, and chose not to mention the rest of it. The cold water had numbed most of the echoes of pain from around her binding, but she doubted it would last. She was strangely enfeebled in the wake of it, and physically speaking, she felt absolutely disgusting. There were few bodily odours that could match the stink of stress-sweat, particularly on a person who’d already spent days in the same clothes.

She eyed the water, and considered how unpleasant it would be to wash in it. _Very,_ probably. It was so _cold._ And it was _water._

…But the water certainly wouldn’t be getting any warmer, on their ascent to higher ground.

“Ugh.” She muttered, disgustedly, and tried to make room in her plans-for-the-day for an attempt at bathing. Not now, though. Now, she wanted to sit somewhere warm for a while. “I think your brother has the fire going, by the sounds of it. Let’s go warm up a bit.”

He nodded, frowning a little at her hand as she removed it from the brook. “Is your hand feeling better?” She glanced back down at it, almost reflexively. The binding was pressed into her skin now, its tightness much more noticeable by the dip it imposed there. At least she wouldn’t have to cut through a heavily reinforced gauntlet to take off her hand, now.

Frankly, though, she didn’t want to think about that yet. She’d had more than enough pain for one day.

“…Well, it’s feeling _numb_ , for whatever that’s worth.” She answered eventually, voice dry, and held out the healthy hand to help him up. “And cold. It’s definitely feeling cold.” She made sure to grab the soap, the wash-rag, and the gauntlet before she walked up the shallow embankment to where they’d made the camp, Ezran trotting at her heels.

She wasn’t faint or dizzy, but she felt strange regardless as she walked. Not quite right. Weak and shaky, like she’d overexerted herself, and not had enough time to recover. She sincerely hoped that would wear off before the evening, or at the very least overnight. She had too much to do to be all… feeble.

Callum looked up at their approach, sitting beside what looked like the starts of a very respectable campfire. He was continuing his trend of being a fast learner, it seemed. “Oh, hey.” He greeted, with a lopsided smile, and ran his eyes quickly over her as if to gauge her wellbeing. “You doing okay?”

Rayla sighed, and sat gingerly down beside him, eyelids fluttering a little at the welcome heat of the fire. Oh, that was _nice_. “Ask me again once my hand stops being numb.” She said, wry, and carefully presented her hand. He winced a little at the sight of it, which was understandable. The area around the binding looked…distinctly unhappy.

“….yeah, that looks – sore.” He grimaced, something half-guilty passing over his face as he shuffled to make room for Ez and his backpack to sit down beside him. “…Sorry if I made it worse.” He said, quietly, after a moment, as if afraid to speak it too loudly. He didn’t meet her eyes.

She raised her eyebrows at him, weary, but not weary enough to let that sort of daft sentiment stand. “Callum, I’d never have got the bloody gauntlet off alone, and it needed to come off. You’ve got nothing to apologise for.”

Both princes blinked at her; Callum squinted, and Ez giggled.

“You _swore_ again _._ ” Ezran informed her, conspiratorially, and… So she had. Hm.

“…I suppose so.” She agreed, a little nonplussed. Months of travelling with Runaan had got her to the point where she censored herself without even noticing it most of the time…but apparently, there was nothing like a little horrible agony to shake some profanity loose. “Sorry?” She offered, after a moment. ‘ _Bloody’_ was hardly worth calling profanity by the standards of most Moonshadow elves, but it had been enough to incur Runaan’s wrath, and apparently Callum wasn’t overjoyed either.

Callum fixed her with a slightly unimpressed look. Perhaps, if their earlier conversations were a clue, he was not best-pleased about profanity occurring around his impressionable brother. Then his eyes flickered to her hand again, and that mild disapproval fell away. Well. At least her infirm hand was being good for something.

She thought of telling him that he should be thankful he’d not ended up with some other Moonshadow elf in the party. Most of the adults in her village tended to swear every other word, or at least every other sentence. Instead, she let her eyes settle on the flames and watched them dance, weariness settling into every inch of her. The warmth of the fire was lulling enough, even without the somewhat hypnotic motion of its well-contained blaze.

“….I should really get dinner started.” She muttered, reluctantly, after several glorious moments of warming herself by the fire. “It’s early, but…” But she wanted to try to get herself washed up while the sun was still around to make the water a little less bitterly cold. She didn’t finish the sentence, though, not quite having the energy for it. The heat made her languid, preying quickly on her weariness and leaching all the urgency and impetus from her.

Her eyes went half-lidded, drooping tiredly, and she didn’t even notice until Callum spoke. “Nah, you should take the evening off, I think.” He said, reasonably, and she forced her eyes open to blink at him. He was looking at her, face so endearingly earnest and kind-looking that she couldn’t quite manage to gather her objections. “You can let us take care of the cooking-stuff.”

She succeeded in finding the words to comment on _that_ , at least. “Oh, really? I’m betting neither of you have ever cooked a thing in your lives.” She claimed, dryly, and knew from the way Callum squirmed and Ezran snickered that she was absolutely correct.

“I mean, true.” Ez said, cheerful, as he reached into his bag to withdraw the luminous blue dragon egg, settling it easily into his lap. “But you _did_ say you were going to teach us how to cook things. Or something like that.”

She eyed him, then let her gaze flicker to Callum again. He straightened to attention, as if trying to look as competent and ready-to-learn as possible. She snorted softly, amused, and reached out to pat him on the shoulder. “Alright. How about this, Callum: I tell you what to do, and you do it, and you try not to set anything on fire. Especially yourself. Or us. Sound good?”

“Er, sounds good.” He agreed, looking at the flames and the pot and food-jars arrayed nearby. “…No setting the food on fire, either?”

“Nope. This isn’t that kind of cooking.”

“…You mean there _is_ a kind of cooking where-“

“Yep.” She cut him off, rolling her eyes. “But definitely not appropriate for stickyweed. We’re going to have to boil that.”

“I will take your word for it.” Callum said, diplomatically, sharing a bemused glance with Ez. “…So, what do I do first?”

Rayla sighed, tolerantly, and pointed at the iron pot. “Go fill that with water and then come back.” She instructed, resigning herself to teaching a pair of coddled human princes the subtle and arcane art of bringing water to a boil. And fire-safety, regarding not burning your hands horribly when handling iron cookware. And how to tell when a fire was hot enough to cook with.

Well, it wasn’t like they didn’t have plenty of days ahead of them to learn. And they’d already picked up on how to make and break camp pretty well.

…and it _was_ pretty sweet, how they were insisting on giving her the evening off. She didn’t _really_ need it. She could work – she wasn’t _that_ shaken-up. But…well. It was a sweet gesture.

That thought in mind, she watched Callum stand and head off down the bank with the pot in hand, and shook her head a little, surprised all over again at how generally amiable and considerate these humans were. Ez waited bright-eyed by the fire for his brother’s lesson to commence, clearly intrigued by something even so simple as this, and that was sweet too. They were good boys, the both of them. A bit helpless and clueless, maybe, but she could work with that.

Rayla stiffened a little, hearing some distant splashing from the direction of the brook, and also some muffled cursing…but she couldn’t hear any signs Callum was having any real difficulty over there, so just rolled her eyes, wondering if he’d fallen in the stream. Helpless, indeed.

 _Not_ useless or unhelpful though, that was for sure. And not unpleasant or unkind, either. Whatever she might have expected of the princes from all she’d heard about what humans were like – these boys were practically the opposite. It was strange to look at them, sometimes, and actually recognise them as humans.

Her still-numb fingers twitched a little, arm aching with the memory of pain, and she mused on it, pensive.

Two clueless human princes, who by all rights should be her sworn enemies…and they’d sat there with her by the water and helped her with something she couldn’t have possibly managed alone. Ez had held her hand and refused to leave no matter how it bothered him. Callum had stepped in where her own hands failed, and done his best to see her through it. She wondered, unbidden, what Runaan would think of it. Kindness and consideration and aid, given by the hands of the princes of the worst of the human kingdoms.

He’d probably be appalled, Moon help her. He did not exactly have a high opinion of humans.

She found herself surprisingly unmoved by that thought. If he hated humans so much, he clearly hadn’t spent enough non-combat time with any of the good ones. Or any time at all, for that matter. She glanced across at Ez, and felt herself become firmly, completely unbothered by the hypothetical disapproval of her possibly-remaining parental unit. They were her friends, now. If Runaan was still alive to disapprove, he could frankly go eat a sock.

She very carefully did not think at any greater length about Runaan’s likelihood of survival.

Callum reappeared then, head rising over the bank of the hollow, and she rolled her eyes tolerantly at the way he’d clearly spilled water all down his front at least once before managing to return with a full pot. He was dripping a little as he neared, and offered a vaguely resigned-looking grin as he saw them, as if he knew full well he was about to get teased and had accepted his fate with equanimity.

“Fancy a swim, did you?” Rayla inquired, mildly, raising her eyebrows. “Was the lake not enough for you?”

“Ha ha.” He said in reply, just a little sarcastic, but he rolled his eyes and smiled as he set the cast iron pot down. He pulled off his evidently-soaked gloves and started wringing the water from the bottom of his jacket. “I did _not_ go swimming. But…I _may_ have nearly fallen into the stream, a bit.”

“ _Nearly?_ ” Ez repeated, and she looked over to find him snickering. “A _bit?_ ”

“I’ll have you know that if I’d actually fallen in, my back would also be wet.” Callum pointed out, with a conspicuously-feigned air of wounded dignity.

“And also we’d probably have heard you yelling.” Ezran added cheerfully. “That water is _cold_.”

“Trust me, I noticed.” He sighed, and shot a smile over at Rayla. “So? I’ve got the pot of water – what now?”

“Now, I teach you the ancient and arcane art of boiling water.” She answered, lips twitching, and leaned forwards to walk him through the hideously simple process. Five minutes later, the three of them watched the first tiny bubbles rising in the pot, and she mock-applauded the effort.

Callum stared at it, looking simultaneously baffled and unimpressed. “Is that _it_?” he asked, doubtfully, as if he suspected she were hiding some more complex tenet of water-boiling from him.

“That’s literally it.” Rayla agreed, rolling her eyes, and waved her hand towards the food jars and piles of stickyweed. “Congratulations. You can now boil things.”

“…Huh.” He shrugged, dubious, and went to work.

All told, Callum spent a very productive hour boiling bundles of greenery and pieces of sour apple in his pot of water. Rayla cautioned him on how to drain it without burning himself, and then they all assembled around the pot, waiting for it to cool enough to eat straight from the thing with their fingers, as Rayla had forgotten to pack any bowls or utensils when she raided the princes’ lodge. The stickyweed was, needless to say, not especially appetising. If not for the cooked apple giving it a bit of more pleasant flavour, it would have been downright unpleasant. But it was food, and there was a lot of it, and Callum seemed oddly enchanted by its existence anyway.

She’d kept an eye on him through the whole process, of course. Did her best to focus through her lethargy and the growing pain of her hand to make sure he wasn’t going to burn himself on the pot or flames, or tip scalding water all over himself, or any other preventable accident. She’d observed the tiny, fleeting smiles he gave the pot as he stirred it – with one of Rayla’s blades, due to their lack of actual proper utensils – and the proud satisfaction in how he presented the drained pot of food to them.

He seemed pleased with himself. Happy at having learned something new, maybe. Either way, despite how uninteresting both the cooking and the food were, he seemed genuinely cheered by the whole thing, and that was honestly quite sweet.

“I feel like I’ve achieved something, here.” He mused, still looking quietly proud, when they’d all finished and were feeding the leftovers to Bait. “Maybe not a very impressive something, but still!”

Rayla snorted, reluctantly charmed, and reached out to pat him on the knee. “Well done. We’ll make a decent traveller of you yet.” She flashed him a grin, and watched him startle a little at the words, as if she’d given him some great praise.

The smile he offered back at her was a little shy, but very grateful. “Well, I’ll try my best.” He said, modestly, and glanced over at the scattered remains of their meal. Bait was investigating the various pots and jars suspiciously, as if he thought some food might yet be hiding from him. “What’s left to do today? Just clean all of this up?”

“I can do that!” Ez declared, watching as he hooked the now-cold pot and its remnants of green, murky water a little further away from the fire. “It’s just washing stuff, right?”

“Well, yeah. Just need to rinse out the pot and jars and all.” Rayla confirmed, and after a moment, reached out to grab one of the jars, slipping it under her arm so she wouldn’t have to hold anything with her bad hand. “You may as well let me do that, though. I need to go wash up anyway.”

They blinked at her, perplexed, which reassured her that she probably didn’t stink enough for them to have noticed. “What, like – doing laundry?” Callum asked, after a moment.

“That too.” She agreed, and went rooting through the bags, bracing them against her left arm while she rummaged in the contents one-handed. “Mostly I just need to wash.”

“Oh. Okay?” Callum shrugged, easily accepting, and moved all of the cooking stuff into a convenient pile while she searched.

“…I still want to wash the stuff, though.” Ezran commented, a little mulishly, while she pulled out clothes and a towel and a few other choice pieces, trying not to wince as her movement jolted her ever-more-painful hand. “Callum did all the cooking. And you’re having an evening off. So I need to do something or it won’t be fair.” He nodded, decisively, and she raised an eyebrow at him.

“You helped set up the camp earlier, you know. It’s not like you’ve not done anything.” She pointed out, gathering everything in a bundle into her lap. She resisted the impulse to comment that, strictly speaking, she wasn’t convinced she needed an evening off at all. She had a feeling they wouldn’t appreciate it.

Ez sent her what she was coming to recognise as his stubborn-face: jaw set, eyes a little narrowed, hard-headed determination writ large on his features. “I’m gonna do camp chores.” He decreed, firm, and stared at her like he was daring her to say otherwise.

Well. If he felt that strongly about it, she had neither the energy nor the inclination to dispute it. “Sure. Fine, do the washing up.” She sighed, rising with her assorted things held under her arm, and taking a moment to steady herself against the strange, tremulous exhaustion that lingered in her limbs. “But only after I’m done, alright?” She turned in the direction of the water, taking one step, before she paused and turned her head. She fixed them both with a very firm stare. “Both of you stay here while I’m down there, alright? No coming near the water till I’m finished.”

It wasn’t as though she expected them to peep or anything. Ezran was _ten_ and Callum was decidedly not the type. But it needed saying, if only so they were properly aware that the brook was off-limits for a while. Both of them presented their agreement readily enough, so she turned back, and walked towards the hollow.

She went down by the brook with exhaustion and reluctance dogging her all the way. As expected, her slightly-more-generous feelings towards water had dissipated very shortly after it ceased being a balm to her horrible pain, and now the idea of willingly approaching and immersing herself in a water source was utterly awful again. She’d come a long way from her childhood days of being outright terrified of baths, maybe, but – there was something so much more menacing about _wild_ water. Outside-water. Water that ran and gathered and pooled, ready to trip and pull down the unwary.

In the shadows of the hollow, the brook and the pool looked menacingly deep. Much deeper than they actually were.

Realistically speaking, Rayla was not going to drown in a brook. She also – _probably_ – was not going to drown in the pond it made in the base of the hollow…though if she slipped and cracked her head and passed out, then technically – but she was _not_ thinking about that.

She gathered her nerves and settled in the dark of the hollow, setting down the towel and wash-rag and soap and change of clothes. She breathed, steeling herself to face the cold as much as the water. She tried to think of ways to motivate herself. If she bathed, she wouldn’t stink or feel disgusting anymore, which was a definite bonus. If she bathed, the cold would replace all the ever-worsening pain of her hand with…more numb-feeling kinds of pain. That was good, right? Her hand _was_ starting to feel genuinely terrible, after an hour to heat and swell and ache by the fire. The cold water would be a balm for that. She considered the burning of the swollen flesh around the binding, and…that was actually pretty good motivation.

She puffed out a breath, and in the seclusion of the hollow, peeled herself out of the armour she’d been wearing for over a week now. The cool air was abruptly introduced to her skin and the interior of her vestments, and sweet moonbeams, it _stank._ She could only be thankful that the armour, for the most part, had kept the smell inside up to now. But she’d been scaling cliffs and fighting and walking and in general living in this armour for a good long while – and yes, she’d been thoroughly dipped in a lake a few days ago, but that only went so far. The water would be horrible. So very, very horrible. But she had to do it. For cleanliness.

She muttered some quiet encouragement to herself – “Come on, Rayla. Do it for hygiene.” – summoned her courage, and waded into the water.

It was _cold._ It was completely, awfully, mercilessly _cold,_ and _awful,_ and felt like it was injecting ice directly into her bloodstream, and-

She shuddered, shivered, gritted her teeth, and went to work with the soap and rag as quickly as she possibly could. It was spring, maybe, and they weren’t quite in the mountains yet – but the altitude was sufficient that this really _felt_ like mountain water. And, as Rayla had learned, mountain water always seemed determined to be five times as frigid as it ought to be.

The increasingly-dire pain in her bound hand swiftly transmuted to a numb ache again. Not satisfied with making only that part of her hurt, the cold cheerfully set an intense and nearly searing-cold pain into her flesh and _especially_ her joints. Ankles, knees, elbows – anything that ended up in the water went numb and locked up and _hurt._ The second she conceded to wash her hair a little, her horns and skull instantly voiced their displeasure with the temperature by aching horribly, and it didn’t get any better once she took her head away from the water.

She rushed her way through the whole miserable bathing process as quickly as she could manage, giving all her clothes the most cursory dunking and scrubbing possible. She hated water, she hated _cold water_ even more, she hated headaches brought on by washing her hair in cold water, and she _especially_ hated how she had to contend with it all one-handed because of her stupid binding.

She was all-too-glad when she finally pulled herself out of the brook and began, shivering, to wring the water from her hair and clothes. The afternoon air had seemed somewhat chilly before, especially in the shade, but it was downright balmy compared to the water.

Finally, when she was at least vaguely dry, Rayla inspected her change of clothes.

There were trousers, an undershirt, a long-sleeved shirt, and a jacket. All very obviously Callum’s, and also very obviously _civilian clothes._ They’d provide no protective value whatsoever, might well restrict her range of mobility, and probably weren’t designed for long-haul journeys across rough terrain. But they were what she had.

The trousers turned out to be too-short, as expected, but were baggy enough that she’d at least not have difficulty running or jumping in them. The undershirt…well, it was sleeveless, which Rayla definitely preferred, but it seemed…small. She inspected it, dubious, and then conceded to try it.

Not bad. A little tight around the shoulders, but honestly not bad. It would do. Even if the colour was a lot paler than she was used to wearing. Not quite white, maybe, but certainly pale enough to stand out conspicuously in a forest. But the fit, at least, was decent.

The shirt and jacket were another matter entirely. Every attempt she made to get through their sleeves was intensely painful for her hand, even numb as it was, and she gave it up very quickly. Even without the problem of her binding, she thought they’d be too tight. Certainly too restrictive for her to have a good range of motion in.

She _really_ should have taken the sleeveless one from the bag, instead.

The jacket’s sleeves were at least not too tight, but – her hand was _tender._ Undoubtedly, all the fuss with the gauntlet had not been kind to it, enough so that it hurt awfully even after the tranquilising effect of obscenely cold water. She had a sneaking suspicion that, later, when the numbness wore off completely, she’d be having a very unpleasant time. And probably a pretty unpleasant sleep, too.

In the end, she didn’t manage the shirt or jacket, but she was still respectably-enough clothed to approach the camp. She gathered up all of the wet and not-wet things she’d brought down, and marched barefoot back over the lip of the hollow, still shivering with cold, and the skin of her bare arms lined with goosebumps.

Both boys looked up from Callum’s open sketchbook at the sound of her approach, Bait eyeing her for a second before turning grumpily back to the fire. Callum opened his mouth reflexively to greet her, paused for a second at the sight of her, then completed the motion. “Hey, Rayla.” He said, eyes flicking curiously between her many bundles and what she was wearing. “…How was it? You look…cold.”

“ _So_ very, _very_ cold.” She answered, darkly, holding out a hand to demonstrate how it was shaking. Though, she supposed, that could be from tiredness as much from the temperature. She shook herself out with a shudder, her hair wet and chilly enough to exacerbate the ache in her skull and horns. She grimaced a little and shuffled over to drape some of her wet armour on the spindly, low-hanging branches of the nearest trees. This complete, she hastened back to the fire, holding the shirt and jacket she’d not quite managed to get into, along with the pieces of over-armour she’d not bothered to wash.

Both boys were observing her as she planted herself next to them at the campfire, but frankly, she did not care in the least. She was too busy holding her arms out over the flames. “If you’re that cold, why are you only wearing an undershirt?” Ez inquired, looking first at the clothes and then at her. Then, unexpectedly, he giggled. She followed his gaze and found that he was looking at her feet…which, she supposed, they’d not seen bare before, given she hadn’t changed her socks in view of them before. “You _do_ have four toes, after all.” He commented a second later, looking delighted despite the lack of answer to his initial question.

“I hadn’t noticed.” She snorted, lips twitching, and settled cross-legged with her feet on her thighs to let the fire warm them. Ezran eyed this position with interest and promptly tried to emulate it, setting the egg carefully aside to attempt to pull his legs into place. He couldn’t seem to manage it, and with a sigh, she leaned over to stop him. “ _Don’t_ strain yourself, Ez, or you’ll pull something.” She said, rolling her eyes, and moved to demonstrate the easier version of the position. “If you can’t sit like that with both legs, just try it with one.” Callum watched curiously as she pulled his brother’s hands, looking down at his own feet speculatively.

Ez considered her advice, then moved one foot most of the way over to settle on his leg, not far from his knee. “Like this?” Rayla spotted Callum surreptitiously attempting the same posture from the corner of her eye, evidently trying not to be noticed, and rolled her eyes again.

“That’ll do. You can work on your flexibility by getting your foot further up. It’s not even a bad idea to be doing leg stretches, actually, after all this walking.” She said, and then looked straight over at Callum, who stilled a little at being caught imitating them. She inspected the positioning of his boot, which was a little further-off than Ezran’s. “Same goes for you.” She concluded after a moment, amused.

He offered a nervous laugh. “I have no idea how you just _sit_ like that.” He said after a second, ducking his head a little self-consciously. He kept his boot where it was, though.

She shrugged. “Easy. I just sit.” She explained, and pulled the nearby shirt into her lap. She inspected it thoughtfully. “Anyway. Callum, I wanted to ask – do you mind if I cut the sleeves off this shirt?” She held one sleeve up to demonstrate. “I could just wear the sleeveless one, but – I can’t actually get my arms in these sleeves, and I’ll probably need to use this shirt at _some_ point.”

He blinked at her, and then at the shirt. “Er, sure?” he agreed. “Do you want me to go get the scissors, or…?”

Rayla considered it, then shook her head. Her one clean blade, which was still resting near the campfire, would probably do the job fine. She withdrew it, flicked it open, and after a brief inspection of the shirt’s shoulder seams, cut off the left and then the right. Then, satisfied, she pulled it on and buttoned it up, and found her range-of-motion generally unimpeded, though again, the fabric was tighter around her shoulders than she’d have preferred.

“Are you going to cut the sleeves off the jacket, too?” Ez asked, curiously, as he watched all of this, moving the egg back into his cross-legged lap.

“…Hope not. I’ll probably be wanting those sleeves once we’re crossing the mountains.” She said, considering. She had the wool jumper, maybe, but she had a sneaking suspicion that every layer would count in an extended mountain-crossing. Hopefully, if she was lucky, the swelling in her hand might go down enough to allow her to tolerate the sleeves. She shrugged, and went to start pulling her extraneous armour-pieces on: belt, pauldrons, and (with some difficulty) right-hand gauntlet. She wasn’t even going to _attempt_ putting the left one on, right now. “We’ll see, I suppose.” More-or-less satisfied with her state of dress, she promptly hunched herself over the fire to warm up properly.

“I should go wash the stuff now, maybe.” Ez said, inspecting the cooking-things still arrayed nearby, including the one of her blades they’d used for stirring. “Before it starts getting dark.”

 “You two might want to think about washing up yourselves.” She recommended, lifting her head to glance at them. “Might be our last chance for a while, and it’s only going to get colder soon.”

The boys exchanged a glance. “…How _much_ colder, do you think?” Callum asked, after a moment.

“Give it two or three days and we’ll be seeing snow, and there’ll be ice in the water.” She said, with relative certainty, and smirked a little as the two of their faces fell, evidently appalled. “I do _not_ recommend taking a swim in water that cold.” She added, somewhat unnecessarily. “Isn’t great for the health.”

“I’d never have guessed.” Callum remarked, the sarcasm somewhat weak in the face of his dismay. “How are we meant to _keep clean,_ then?”

“Do we just _not bathe?_ ” Ezran asked, equal parts fascinated and disturbed. “That’s _so gross.”_

“Best you can really do when it’s that cold is heat up some water and spot-clean.” She answered, shrugging. “At least all the snow means you don’t need to find a river first. You can just melt that.” She paused, and as an afterthought, elaborated “sometimes it’s hard to find water in the mountains.”

Callum’s face twisted into some complicated mess of interest, distaste, and mild dread. “I’m so not used to thinking about this sort of stuff.” He bemoaned, sounding somewhat overwhelmed.

Rayla snorted. “I can tell.” She patted him consolingly on the knee. “Don’t worry, you’ll pick it up with time.” He eyed her, not looking particularly encouraged, and sighed.

“I’m trying to think if I’ve ever taken a bath outside of a bath before.” Ezran pondered, and she looked over at him. He didn’t look quite as bothered by the situation as his brother, at least. “I don’t think I have.”

She sighed, a little wistfully, and let her head fall back. “I’ve not even _seen_ a bath for over two months.” As a child, she might have hated baths with a passion, but she missed not being half-frozen every time she tried to keep clean. As much as she could miss anything water-related, she _missed_ warm baths.

“Oh, wow. That’s _forever_.” He blinked at her with his icy-blue eyes. “And it’s going to be too cold soon to actually sort-of go in the water? Maybe we _should_ wash up today, Callum. While the water isn’t all…frozen.”

The elder prince grimaced, closed his sketchbook, and set it aside. “…Much as I hate to say it, you’re right.” He conceded, and went rooting about in his bag for his own change of clothes, and then in Ezran’s bag. “C’mon Ez. Let’s get this over with.” He picked up a few of the cooking-things, or at least as many as he could carry with him.

“Try to go easy on the soap.” Rayla recommended, watching them gather their things. “It’s not going to last us long.” Which was, at least in part, her fault. If she’d thought to take her gauntlet off _earlier…_ but, well, there was no changing that now. Her wrist twinged ominously beneath the binding, as if to remind her that the numbing relief brought by the cold wouldn’t last much longer.

“Will do.” Callum agreed, picking up the rag and soap and towel from beside her to sling over the cooking-things, and waiting for Ez to come along.

Ez, for his part, looked pensively between the egg he was holding and Rayla, and then set it carefully on the ground beside her. “…Look after him.” He instructed her, softly, and padded off over to the hollow with only the slightest of backwards-glances, Bait hopping off after him. Callum raised his eyebrows a little, as if surprised, but didn’t object; laden with clothing and camp supplies, he followed his brother to the water.

Rayla, left alone by the campfire with the shell of the Dragon Prince glowing softly beside her, stared after them, eyes wide. Then, slowly, she looked over at the egg.

…she wouldn’t touch it. Ez hadn’t handed it to her, just put it next to her. So she wouldn’t touch it. But…

She blinked rapidly and swallowed past a sudden lump in her throat, and shifted to sit on her knees, so as to be able to rise and respond to potential threats more easily. The boys had trusted her to guard the egg, so she would.

…They’d trusted her. There’d been no ceremony to it. Just a quick decision by Ez, a quick glance by Callum, and – they’d _trusted_ her.

There was no binding on her right wrist. But it stung, all the same.

 

\---

 

Needless to say, after their turn washing up in the chilly brook, Callum had a great deal of sympathy for how much Rayla had been shivering. He and Ez hurried back to the fire just as she had, and huddled over it just as she had, and spent a good ten minutes warming up and bemoaning the evils of cold water.

By this point, the sun was edging conspicuously lower in the sky, the hour growing late. With all of them fed and washed, the only necessary task of the day remaining was to get some sleep – but Rayla had seemed perfectly willing to wait until nightfall before, so Callum took the opportunity to pull out his sketchbook for some good drawing-time. His drawings of Rayla’s weapons were nearing completion, now, their intricate parts carefully outlined and shaded, with only the broader lighting and smaller details left to handle.

Ordinarily, he’d have quickly become completely absorbed in it. Callum had spent most of his life being teased about how oblivious he became to anything except the page in front of him when he was drawing, and so he was well-aware of how he got. But today…today, he couldn’t quite manage to immerse himself as utterly as he was used to. Because –

The sun began its descent into the treeline, the sky developed a pleasant gradient of pale yellows and pinks, and Rayla...Rayla grew quiet and withdrawn, posture growing tense and strained in a way that made him keep looking back at her uncertainly _,_ and she held her bad arm too carefully and delicately in her lap for it to look normal. He couldn’t help but notice it. Couldn’t quite let the art pull him in as comprehensively as it usually did, when concern drew his eyes away from the page so often.

Callum watched her worriedly in his periphery through the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, glancing up from his sketchbook from time to time to check on her. Her dark fingers curled inwards and twitched, plainly uncomfortable, and her left arm never quite settled from the careful, precise way she was holding it. Once or twice her movement drew his eye, and he saw her raise her other hand as if to massage the bound limb, but every time she flinched back from her own skin as if burned. Her expression was tightly controlled, but every so often…she grimaced, or exhaled a little too heavily, or closed her eyes as she breathed in a forced and deliberate sort of way.

Her hand was really hurting her, then. A lot worse than it had been yesterday, for sure. And the skin around the binding...it looked _bad._ Swollen and almost puffy, as if with blood welling up below the skin. He wasn’t sure if that was because of how it had been agitated earlier, or if it had already looked like that, below the gauntlet.

She didn’t advertise her discomfort. Didn’t make any noise, or offer any complaint. She didn’t seem to want them to know when she was in pain. She’d tried to send them away, earlier, so they wouldn’t see it when she hurt herself pulling at the gauntlet…so it wasn’t really a surprise she was being quiet about it now. But…she was _suffering_ , and he could _see_ that, and…and he wasn’t sure what to do.

Should he try to distract her? Try to talk to her about it? …Really, what he _wanted_ to do was ask if there was anything he could do to help – but surely, if she had a way to help the pain, she’d have done something already – pointed out some weird plant that could help, or whatever. There probably wasn’t anything he could do, but he wanted to ask anyway. Eventually, he shuffled around the edge of the campfire, closer to where she was sitting, and finally found it in himself to speak.

“…Rayla?” he spoke, cautiously, and she looked over as he settled. “Are you doing okay?”

Rayla blinked at him, some of the carefully-controlled tension subsiding from her face as she did. “…I’m fine?” She offered, a little perplexed, as if the question had baffled her. “Why?”

“Kind of seems like your hand is hurting you.” He answered, fidgeting a little. She seemed to have a tendency to keep things to herself, pain and problems included, and he wasn’t yet sure how much he could push without it annoying her. He pulled uncomfortably at the fabric of his gloves, and wondered if he should add some sort of comment, like _it’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it,_ or _I hope you don’t mind me saying,_ or even _sorry for bothering you-_

“…Well, yeah.” Rayla agreed, a second later, cutting through the anxious ramblings of his thoughts. She didn’t look especially bothered or annoyed, so he made an effort to stop overthinking it. “Not much to be done about that, though.” She added, with a sort of grim twist to the edges of her mouth. “I can deal with it.” Across the fire, Ezran opened his pale eyes, and stared watchfully at them. Callum had assumed he’d fallen asleep, considering how long he’d been sitting there, eyes closed, with the egg in his lap – but apparently not. Bait, however, was absolutely asleep, and was even snoring slightly.

“…Is there anything I can do to help?” he finally asked, fingers practically twitching with the agitation of it. He wanted – he wanted to _do something,_ to help her – somehow. But what could _he_ do? He was just…kind of useless, here.

She observed him for a second, as if trying to discern his thoughts from his face. Then she shook her head, a small and rueful smile on her lips.  “Not really. But…thank you. For asking.” She reached out to rest her healthy hand on his shoulder, briefly, as if to reassure him. Then she looked down at the sketchbook in his lap. “That looks like it’s coming along nicely, though.” She commented, tilting her head to observe the drawing.

“Oh, um, yeah. I think I might finish it tonight.” He said, a little self-consciously. After a second, he adjusted it so she could see it more easily, and…recalled, slowly, how she’d watched him draw that time in the boat. It had seemed to help distract her then, right? “Not sure what I’ll draw afterwards, though.” He hesitated, then moved his charcoal back to the page to keep drawing. If she wanted to watch him draw, well, then she could. If she didn’t, she was fully capable of looking somewhere else.

“What kinds of things do you normally draw?” She asked, shifting to a more comfortable viewing angle to observe the page. Well…that answered that, he supposed.

Carefully, he suppressed the reflexive nervousness that came with a non-Ezran person paying close attention to his art. “All sorts, really. People, places, things…” He answered, and glanced at her from the corner of his eyes, hesitant. “…Maybe I’ll show you through the stuff in the sketchbook, sometime.” He found himself saying, and then balked a little at his own words. That was – well, he _did_ mean it? And that was the surprising part. He _did_ kind of want to show her some of the things he’d drawn. But – his sketchbook was…kind of…well.

Ezran raised his eyebrows at him from over the fire, and really, that was fair. Callum was usually kind of cagey about this sketchbook. It was…personal, in a way the drawings he did on loose paper just _weren’t._ He wasn’t entirely sure what had possessed him to offer what he had.

He didn’t rescind the words, though. Rayla didn’t appear to notice anything odd about it, at least, and only smiled. “Sounds good.” She said, seeming vaguely more cheerful at the prospect. As if she genuinely was interested. As if she did genuinely want to see his art.

That was…nice.

He watched her for a long second, bewilderingly heartened by that small, genuine smile. He cleared his throat, suddenly flustered without quite knowing why, and looked quickly back at the open page. As nonchalantly as possible, he returned to drawing, and tried not to be too hyper-aware of Rayla watching. She still seemed exhausted, maybe, and was still holding her hand with that cautious, delicate care, but…if he’d distracted her a little, that was good, right?

Ez moved over too, after a while, and sat down on Callum’s other side to watch him drawing. He seemed sleepy, eyes half-lidded and falling shut from time to time as his fingers splayed on the glowing egg he spent so much time sitting with.

“You know, Ez,” Callum said, the third time Ezran yawned, as he very carefully traced sharper definition to the lines at the edge of the blade. “If you’re tired, you should go to sleep. You don’t need to stay up.”

With typical childish surliness, Ezran narrowed his eyes at his brother, and said “I’m not _that_ tired. I don’t wanna sleep yet.” His voice went a touch petulant at that, stubbornness setting into the line of his jaw. At this, Bait’s eyes opened, and he grumbled at finding Ezran such a distance from him. Slowly, and drowsily, he pulled himself over to settle by Ezran’s knee.

Callum shrugged. “Well, suit yourself.” He glanced up at the sky, which was still darkening as the sun drifted towards the horizon. “I guess it’s not too late yet.”

“…Late enough for me, I think.” Rayla spoke up, unexpectedly, and he turned to look at her. She averted her gaze, cradling her hand against her chest as she stood. “I’m going to turn in early.” She exhaled, voice tired and eyes weary. “It’s been a long day.”

The skin around the binding looked so horribly, awfully sore.

His eyes lingered on the sight of it for a moment, worry creasing his brow, then he looked back up at her. “Alright, Rayla. We’ll try not to be too loud when we come in.” He said, eventually, and offered a smile. She returned it, though it seemed to be something of a strain.

“Night, Rayla.” Ez piped up, blinking solemnly at her. In the dimming light, his eyes looked almost the same colour as the egg. “Hope you feel better.”

She stilled, very briefly; then she flashed Ez that same strained smile, dipped her head, and took herself and her things towards the tent. He watched her go, gut clenching, and didn’t quite manage to look away until she was turning to close the tent door behind her. Something heavy settled in his chest after that, and he stared at the pages of his sketchbook, brows furrowed and fingers tense on the charcoal.

“You’re worried about her.” Ez said, lowly, from directly beside him. Callum startled, rising from his idle fretting, and turned towards him.

He looked at his little brother, at the sombre understanding on his face, and sighed. “She had a hard time today.” He said after a pause, eyes slipping back to his sketchbook, to the drawings. Two weapons, and the shapes they could become. “It…wasn’t easy. To see that. To – you know.”

“To hurt her.” Said Ezran, and Callum winced a little at the words’ bluntness. “I know.”

“…Yeah.” He stared at the weapons, nearly fully-shaded now. There was just a little left to do on the handle of the hook-form sketch. After a moment of hesitation, he moved his charcoal to it, and traced the page in the feather-light strokes he used to shade. “I know it was – necessary. But…” he exhaled, heavily, and filled in the space next to the outline on the end of the handle. Drew a finger carefully through a too-harsh line to blend it, and wiped the grey dust on his gloves. “Yeah, I’m worried.” He admitted, quiet, and lowered the stick to the page again.

Ez nodded, hands adjusting themselves on the curve of the egg, and stared solemnly towards it. “Me too.” He sighed, slumping over the glowing shell. “I really hope we can find something to help her tomorrow.”

Callum hummed lowly, a sound of assent, and sat back to inspect the drawing. A brief examination saw his charcoal moving to deepen the shading around the white moon-like symbols on the hilt of the weapons. They reminded him, inexorably, of the crescent-shaped charm-thing on the binding. His fingers twitched restlessly as he removed them from the page, the drawing now more-or-less complete.

His eyes rested on the pale crescent shape on the weapons he’d drawn for a long time, mind already imagining the lines he wanted to draw next. He deliberately moved his thoughts away from that image, sighed, and looked up at the sky. The moon wasn’t quite visible yet – that he could see, anyway. The sun had all but vanished. The last few nights, they’d gone to bed not long after moonrise, but today – today had been hard, and not just on his legs. He sort of wanted to turn in early himself.

“…Callum?” Ez spoke, voice hesitant. Uncertain. He looked over and found his brother looking back at him entreatingly, as if seeking reassurance. “Do you think we _will_ be able to find anything? Or…” He trailed off, staring back at the egg. Bait croaked sympathetically from beside him, earning an absent-minded pat.

“…I really hope so, Ez.” He answered, eventually, the same worry twisting in his gut. Honestly, he didn’t know what their chances were. He wasn’t a healer, all he knew was a little bit of field-healing. But that ignorance was, honestly, the best thing he had going for him right now; because maybe there _was_ something he didn’t know about – some procedure, or medicine, or whatever – that could keep Rayla from needing to lose her hand. He wouldn’t know until he tried, right? “We’ll find out tomorrow, I guess.” He said, forcing some determination, and straightened. “Even if we – we’ll definitely be able to find something to help the pain, right? There must be all sorts of stuff for that.”

Ezran visibly forced some cheer into his own expression. “Right! And then Rayla’s hand won’t hurt her so much.” He agreed, somewhat encouraged, and smoothed a hand over azure eggshell.

Callum watched him, a flicker of curiosity passing amongst his thoughts. Ez really had been paying a lot of attention to that egg. He took it out of his bag and held it pretty much every time they sat down for more than a few minutes, and even when he didn’t, he usually put his hands into his bag to touch it. He seemed constantly, unthinkingly drawn to it. Possessive of it, even. He wondered if that was just Ez being Ez, or if there was something magical about dragon eggs that made them oddly compelling. He’d not noticed anything himself, maybe, but he’d not spent as much time with it as Ez had.

“…You’ve really been spending a lot of time like that, with the egg.” He commented, after a moment, wondering how he’d respond.

His brother looked up at him, quickly, and then back down at the egg. His expression went almost furtive. “…Yeah.” He nodded, but didn’t offer any details or explanation. That was…interesting. Ez didn’t often go closed-off or quiet about things.

Curious, but not especially inclined to push, Callum let the matter slide, and looked back at his sketchbook to appraise the completed drawings. It was a two-page spread, featuring Rayla’s weapons in their various forms – sheathed, blade, and hook. In each of them that little piece of lunar ornamentation stood out. He sighed, and…just like that, he was thinking about the binding again. He couldn’t quite seem to get his mind off of it.

He supposed that was normal. The biggest, most important thing about this journey was getting the Dragon Prince home, and stopping the war – but the matter of Rayla’s hand was closer to…well, closer to hand. A more immediate and preoccupying issue. It was hard _not_ to be so concerned by it, when today he’d spent a horrible half-hour tugging a gauntlet off of Rayla’s wrist while she tried very hard not to shriek with pain. It had been _awful._ His mind kept pulling the memory back to him, as if seeing it once wasn’t enough.

How much longer could her hand _have,_ when it was already that bad? As much as he wanted to hope they’d find something to help her, tomorrow – he just…didn’t know.

Callum exhaled, and stared at the sketchbook. He flipped it over, finding fresh new paper, ready to draw on. He knew the image that was pressed into his mind. He knew what picture was trying to struggle its way out of his thoughts and onto the page. He just…didn’t really _want_ to draw it. It was morbid, and definitely wouldn’t get his mind off of anything. But…even so…

He warred with the unerring, relentless pull of the art-mind for several long moments, then finally conceded. He drew when he was upset, and when he was worried – and he wasn’t sure which of those things he was right now, but there was no sense fighting it.

Brows furrowed and heart heavy, Callum began etching the first charcoal lines of Rayla’s bound hand.

 

 

\---

 

 

It was late in the afternoon when Corvus finally picked up the trail. But when he found it, it came with far more mystery and questions than he’d anticipated.

He had followed the Lune up-river from Kalsanis, keenly watching the eastward bank for signs of recent mooring or activity. He’d not found anything. Not until he arrived at Kalsa, and saw the bloated corpse of a direcarp bobbing in the water. He followed the shore and eventually, _finally_ , found the stolen rowboat moored at the side, amidst a wealth of signs of recent activity.

The first thing he did was inspect the abandoned campfire. The ashes were entirely cold, but had not dissipated or dampened much; it had been made fairly recently. He confirmed this with a quick look at the impressions in the grasses around the empty campsite. A wide, flattened area with small impressions in the earth confirmed that a tent had been there, familiar in shape and size from the ones Corvus was accustomed to seeing in the smaller military camps. The condition of the grass, still bruised and flat, was another indicator of recent enemy presence.

Silently, Corvus made a mental estimate: he could be no more than two days behind his quarry. That was good. Pursuing an enemy who was taking the time to camp every evening – if he hurried, he’d be able to catch up within a few days. That was _very_ good. It was _excellent_ , even. He might genuinely have a chance of catching the murderess.

His timeline established, he went to make a slow, careful inspection of all the clues the camp had to offer. And that… _that_ was when things got confusing.

Corvus was an excellent tracker. He was young for his skills, but he’d come by them honestly, and was quietly proud of the recognition he’d earned from General Amaya for his talents. Finding the signs left by a wary elf assassin could be challenging, but he was more than capable of rising to meet that challenge. He knew how to track an elf who travelled mostly by tree, knew to watch for the signs of their passage in the bent branches and disturbed leaves and impressions left in moss and lichens on the tree-bark. He had, at least somewhat, expected to contend with that level of difficulty in this pursuit.

Instead, he came to a camp that announced, _loudly,_ that it had been occupied by three people and some sort of smallish animal, footprints tracking everywhere, clues strewn every-which-way across the campsite with wild abandon. The signs were _blatant,_ and not subtle at all. He walked about with eyebrows rising wider and wider as the camp told him its story, and…frankly, he might have started to doubt that the camp had been occupied by the elf at all, if not for the boat.

The stolen boat, moored by the lakeshore. The boat with the royal emblem carved at the prow, just under the edge. There was no doubting that this was the boat commandeered from the Banther Lodge, but it had evidently been through some misadventures on the way here.

An inspection of its interior revealed the traces of fish-scales and fishy slime, some scattered bits of a plant that looked like cattail leaves, and – on closer inspection – a few scattered strands of hair caught in the edges of the woodwork. He found a silvery hair and a brown hair, but that didn’t tell him a great deal. He pondered the state of the interior, streaked with damp, as if it had received a thorough dousing in the last few days and had yet to dry completely. He eyed the waterfalls that brought the Lune into Kalsa, and made the logical conclusion from the clues. Very evidently, the elf assassin had run afoul of the falls, and then probably of the direcarp too.

He wasn’t sure what had happened to the direcarp. He hadn’t even been aware that Kalsa _had_ a direcarp, though the locals would certainly have known if he’d thought to ask. The corpse of the thing had swollen with water since its demise and was being enthusiastically fish-eaten, pieces missing about its body, so there was probably no point in rowing out to try to determine a cause of death. Not when there were so many more interesting clues in the camp itself.

Increasingly troubled, Corvus tracked the signs along the shore. The campers had rested here a while, gutting and cooking an improbably large number of lake fish, and…apparently, having a swim in the lake. The lake itself had washed away the impressions within the reach of its modest tide, but a little further up the silty shore, and in the camp itself, there were bare-foot impressions everywhere, some with trails leading directly towards the water.

 _Human_ footprints. One set larger, one set smaller. Five-toed impressions.

With some work, he matched the size of the human footprints to two sets of the booted prints, and that accounted for two of the campsite’s occupants. A third set of boot-prints, a little more slender than the rest, was the only possible candidate for his elven quarry. But what on earth would she be doing in a camp with two humans?

There was an obvious explanation. An explanation that would be astoundingly good news for the entire kingdom, not to mention for his General. But…

He exhaled, and allowed himself to consider the notion that the princes might not be dead after all. It was a difficult thought in its enormity. He doubted himself as soon as it passed his mind. That there had been two humans here was indisputable; that one of them had very small feet befitting a child was also fact. But what was more likely: two random humans making camp with an elf, or two princes making camp with the elf thought to have murdered them? It was tempting to think that these could be the princes – that Katolis had _not_ lost its entire royal family in one fell swoop – but was that actually likely?

He had to be careful here. He had to _think._ A misstep could cost him more than his career.

The questions chased themselves around in his head. _If_ the princes were alive, _why?_ Why would the elf have not killed them? Why would they be with her? Could she perhaps be taking them back to Xadia as political hostages? Why, if they were held hostage or in captivity, had they been wandering barefoot about the camp?

Perhaps the elf held them under threat, and that was why they were allowed to wander somewhat freely. Maybe they didn’t dare to attempt an escape – a trained assassin would certainly be hard for two young, sheltered princes to escape from. That still left the puzzle of why they would be swimming in the lake. Had they been gathering the unusually large numbers of fish that the guts and fishbones suggested? Had the elf pressured them into doing some work of the camp? It would have been a lot of effort for a single elf to construct a camp like this, so it seemed plausible, if these humans _were_ the princes.

He picked through the camp, noting a bizarrely windswept region towards its rear, where the grasses and trees all seemed to bear evidence of a recent, very localised gale. He wasn’t at all sure what to think of that, so he committed it to memory and moved on. He found several spots near the campfire where people had sat, but that didn’t tell him much, either.

In the end, conscious of the time, he abandoned the campsite and followed the three-person trail into the forest. Three tracks. Same feet as before. Sometimes with the small animal tracks, sometimes without. The footprints that might belong to the elf were lighter and more careful, leaving soft impressions in the grasses. The other two sets meandered heavily through the undergrowth, one betraying occasional trips and stumbles over tree roots, leaving a littering of broken twigs and flattened grasses in its wake.

The maybe-elf walked mostly ahead of the humans, but sometimes beside them. He wondered if there was anything to be read from that.

He tracked the signs automatically as he walked, the processes of reading a trail like this as natural and easy to him as breathing. Mostly, he was thinking about the identity of these two humans, and whether they might really be the princes, and what on Earth he was meant to say in his next report. The crow would find him again soon, he was sure, and then he’d have a message to write. But what to say? What _could_ he say?

 _‘Dear General, I found the trail of what is probably the elf, but she has two humans with her’?_ What if he was completely wrong about this? What if this wasn’t even his quarry at all, but some other group who had picked up a boat abandoned further up-river?

But, no. The tent was an argument against that. He _knew_ the marks of the standard-issue military tents. The chances of some separate non-military group happening to have a tent the exact same size and shape as the one stolen were ridiculously low. Not worth considering. This _was_ the elf’s group. And she _did_ have two humans with her. One of whom had very small feet, and could very plausibly be a child of Prince Ezran’s age.

Still, he felt oddly unnerved and reluctant at the idea of reporting it. Being wrong was always potentially damaging to some extent, but…suggesting that the beloved Princes of Katolis might be alive? The repercussions of that could be immense: politically, strategically – and for his General, emotionally, too. If he was wrong about this, the fallout could ruin more than his own life.

…and, there was that important consideration: how would General Amaya react?

She was a good commander. A good general. And a good person. The news of the princes’ deaths had hit her harder than anything he’d ever seen her weather before. What if he gave her hope that her nephews might be alive, only for it to turn out to be unfounded?

He chased his thoughts and worries along the trail all through the day, until the sunlight was fading and he risked losing or disrupting the tracks in the dark. He sighed, allowed his eyes to start adapting, and went browsing about for firewood. In the end he settled beside his modest campfire and dug out his field rations, and allowed his thoughts to draw to their inevitable conclusion.

When the crow returned, he’d report everything he found. Of course he would. He couldn’t in good conscience leave out something as significant as the news that the elf was travelling with two humans. He’d have to acknowledge the implications, and request caution be taken with them until he had more evidence, but…there was no question of his duty. Of _course_ he had to report what he’d found. Even if the fallout could be potentially calamitous.

Mercy, but he hoped the signs were true. Hoped that Katolis still had some of its royal family left. Hoped that the princes were alive and healthy, if not happy, and would remain so until he could deliver them from the elf’s captivity.

He watched the embers dance amidst the firewood, and hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Timeline:** Chapter takes place on 17.05, day 7. Subtract two days for how long the kids have been travelling together. 
> 
> On day 7: Rayla’s gauntlet is removed, Claudia and Soren set out. Also, Corvus catches up to the lake camp, and like any tracker worth his salt, immediately notices some concerning signs.
> 
>  **Hiking notes:** 1, when on a trek lasting a week or longer without access to bathing facilities, you inevitably stink; 2, you and your travelling companions become functionally immune to bad body odour and generally don’t notice that you/each other smell, even when sleeping right next to each other; 3, you immediately lose your body odour immunity when you change clothes and all the stink spills out. Also, boots can get seriously pungent.
> 
> Ambient temperature really can drop alarmingly quickly when you ascend to higher ground. And mountain rivers, even in summer, can be appallingly cold. Rayla’s experience of being dunked in one is derived directly from my experience with the mountain rivers in the Alps in summer. I did not even attempt to wash in the mountain rivers in the Andes, given they were all full of ice at the time, and I might have given myself hypothermia if I’d tried.
> 
>  **Other notes:** Rayla casually and unthinkingly sits in lotus in this chapter. Callum and Ezran, like many people who have never seen anyone sit like that before, are immediately intrigued. In my experience, children who see someone sitting in lotus tend to be fascinated and instantly try to copy it. Non-kids unfamiliar with lotus also tend to be intrigued and often give it a go.
> 
>  **General notes:** Sorry for the long gap since last update! This chapter has been ready for a while but my beta was busy and I decided to take the time to build up a buffer, and then when she came back I kept forgetting to post this. Ch8 is Long and finished, ch9 is nearly finished and will probably be Even Longer, and I’ve got a good 6k chunk of ch10 written too. All told there’s a total of about 173k of piaj overall now, with 110ish of that being chapters 1-10.
> 
> Chapter 8 is…eventful. I will likely release it in a week-ish or whenever I finish ch9, whichever happens last. The scene with Runaan has been moved to ch9.  
> I’d be interested to hear feedback on this chapter. When I was writing it I detested it, and it blocked me worse than any other part of this story has yet. Weeks and several rereads and adjustments later, I no longer hate it, but it’s not my favourite chapter either.


	8. Approaching the Belt viii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which two supposedly-dead princes and a shoddily-disguised elf visit the human town of Verdorn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content warnings:** discussion of medical information pertaining to limb ischemia and amputation. Depictions of anxiety.
> 
> Edits: 26/11/19, minor stylistic changes, and some fairly involved edits that better reference my worldbuilding of the medical profession. No s3 spoilers.

 

When Corvus woke that morning, the crow was there.

He rose from his uncomfortable sleep in the grasses, armour wet with dew and hair pressed into an uncomfortably homogenised mass from the way he’d lain on it all night, and the crow rattled out a hoarse call from a nearby tree. The sound of her was familiar – not just for crows, but for _this_ crow. He smiled, fighting his way to alertness with long practice, and raised his arm upwards, making a clicking sound with his tongue to call her.

In a flutter of inky wings, she descended from the branch and settled on his arm. Her message sat, tightly rolled up, where it was tied to her foot.

“Good girl, Kora.” He murmured to her, and she croaked, turning her neck imperiously. He obeyed the implicit demand and scratched at the feathers there, before lowering his hand to untie the response from General Amaya. He transferred the crow to his shoulder to read it, eyes running over the small, concise print.

Nothing particularly groundbreaking. It was an acknowledgement of his last status report, before he’d caught up to the first camp and found any particularly shocking signs. She added that she was likely to arrive in the capital soon, and would be investigating clues relating to his quarry.

Corvus exhaled, and carefully, withdrew the report he’d already written. Looked over it one last time. Wondered at how much damage it might do, if the signs were leading him astray. In the end, though, duty would not allow him to hold it back; he attached the message, and set Kora back into the sky. If the General was at the capital, the crow ought to reach her in the night, and then she could decide what to do with the information.

Then, with a sigh, he set himself walking again. His mission was as politically-sensitive as they came, and wouldn’t tolerate delay.

 

\---

 

Attempting to get to sleep early was made somewhat difficult by her travelling companions failing to remember how keen her hearing was.

 _“You’re worried about her,_ ” She heard, plainly distinct beyond the dual layers of the tent, as she lowered herself down onto her cloak as gingerly as possible, so as not to jolt her hand. She stiffened a little at the words, fairly certain she’d not been intended to hear them.

 _“…She had a hard time today._ ” Answered Callum, voice distant and a little muted by the space and fabric between them, but still perfectly audible. More than enough for her to hear the heaviness in the words, and then those that followed. Rayla’s gut clenched as she tried to settle, the awful ache of her bound hand making its fingers twitch against the material of her shirt, almost as distracting as the conversation outside the tent. Callum kept talking. Ezran kept talking. She tried not to listen, but that was a difficult thing to manage when their words were so easy to hear, and so full of concern.

She was pretty certain she’d _told_ Callum that she had better hearing than him. Possibly this morning, even, though the day felt like it had been long enough that she wasn’t quite sure. Had he just…forgotten? Failed to realise that holding a quiet conversation with his brother just a few metres from the tent was pretty much a guarantor of her hearing it?

She _tried_ not to listen. But it was hard not to listen to people who were talking about you.

It didn’t go on for too long, at least. The conversation moved, and then stopped entirely. She could just about hear the scratch of charcoal on paper. The occasional sleepy grumble from Bait. The crackle of the campfire.

She tried to get to sleep.

The moon rose; steady and slow, a gradual ascent that tugged unerringly at her bones. Time passed, marked only by the moonrise and the awful pain of the hand resting on her belly. The skin prickled, half-painful and half numb. The fingers ached. She might have been able to ignore those pains – might have been able to distance herself from them, at least enough to drowse. But the flesh around the binding _seared,_ sore beyond anything she’d ever felt, so raw that every second of it burned…and she couldn’t ignore it. Couldn’t distance herself from it.

Time passed, and Rayla didn’t sleep.

The boys came to bed after a while, perhaps a bit later than Rayla would have recommended. She opened her eyes, blearily, to watch as Ezran settled with Bait and the egg on his side, to watch as Callum closed the tent-doors one toggle at a time. He noticed her awake when he turned to lay down, and stilled for a second. In the end, he murmured “sorry for waking you,” apologetic, as he laid down between her and Ez.

“’s fine.” She muttered back, and neglected to mention that she’d never even approached sleep to begin with. She closed her eyes, and listened as the boys shifted and shuffled around as they got comfortable, moving the fabric of the inner-tent with every move. Eventually, they were settled, and went more-or-less still. Later, she listened to Ezran’s breath easing into sleep, and then Callum’s. Bait snored, but quietly and regularly enough that it wasn’t a bother.

And still, Rayla could not sleep.

She laid awake, eyes closed, for a length of time she tried not to track too precisely. Once or twice, she dropped into something approaching sleep; a strange state of semi-consciousness where thoughts and colours and images flickered through her mind like half-formed dreams, where her awareness drifted and she seemed just on the edge of true rest. But the pain in her hand was ceaseless, a raw burn in the background that she could never quite escape from; it roused her again and again from the edge of slumber, all through the night.

Rayla surfaced, occasionally, into near-full wakefulness. She opened her eyes, from time to time, to blink at the tent roof with eyes so tired that they burned and watered at the touch of air. Exhaustion ached in her body along with the pervasive reach of the bind’s pain, and true sleep evaded her no matter how she tried to chase it. Sometimes, when she left her hand too still for too long, the ache in it grew unbearable enough that it seemed to spill over into her body, a wide-spreading misery that chased a tear or two from the corners of her eyes, leaving cold trails where they fell down her temples.

The boys slept, and she didn’t, and there was almost something comforting in that. They weren’t awake to see her awake. Weren’t awake to worry, or to notice that she was in pain. But they were _there_ , regardless, and – for the first time – she felt somewhat better for their presence, cramped into the tent with her. It was reassuring, to have trusted presences nearby. To hear the sounds of breathing, and feel the rustling and shifting of her tent-mates in the fabric of the tent. To feel the body close by her side, near enough for his clothing to brush hers.

Strange, that she found it comforting to have them here, when only days ago it had been so unnerving. But then again, she’d somewhat resigned herself to not being able to sleep properly tonight, so the various vagaries of sharing space with active sleepers were less relevant now. And, as it happened, those vagaries were in full-form now: Ezran shifted around a lot, taking the egg with him, so that its light on the inner-tent shifted distractingly every half hour or so. Callum produced his first example of sleep-talking that she’d heard, mumbling _“_ too many apples”, the words slurred and indistinct, before rolling over and half-slapping Ezran in the face with his arm.

Ezran, for his part, made a slight grumbling noise but didn’t wake beyond that. She shook her head a little at this, deeply envious of the ease and depth of their sleep, and progressed restlessly through another stretch of the night.

Quite late on, probably two or three hours from dawn, Callum made a nuisance of himself in a way that, initially, seemed quite familiar:

Upon rolling over again, Callum’s arm splayed out over her middle, perilously close to where she was holding her horribly-painful hand. Uneasy, she considered removing the arm. She considered the likelihood that he’d just fling it back again twenty minutes later, possibly _actually_ hitting her hand this time, and sighed.

In the end, she moved her bound hand to rest gingerly at her side, and left Callum’s arm where it was.

Some number of minutes later, the arm in question twitched, stretched a little, and then settled into place across her waist. Callum himself made a sleepy murmuring noise and shifted just enough to press his face into her right shoulder, and then went still, apparently comfortable.

Rayla held very still for several long moments, staring blearily at the fabric-roof above her. When she’d found Callum affixed to his brother the morning before, firmly entangling the smaller prince in his arms, she’d found it pretty endearing. She had not considered, somehow, that she might end up a recipient of his apparent inclination for hugging people in his sleep, but clearly she should have. And now, on top of the inescapable burn of her binding, she had to deal with… _this._

After a moment of consideration, she peeled the arm from around her middle and put it back into the space between them. Callum made an unhappy noise and immediately replaced it, curling his fingers around the side of her waist.

…Well then.

She might have been flustered by it, any other night. She sort of _was_ a little bit flustered, maybe, but it was in a very distant way – a very tired way. There was too much exhaustion in her to leave much space for feeling especially awkward about being sleep-hugged by one of the human princes she was sharing a tent with. She was particularly _aware_ of it, maybe – of the weight of the arm over her, the light pressure of the fingers at her side, the warmth of the breath puffing into her shoulder every other second – but…she really didn’t have the energy to care about it much.

She was so tired.

Eventually, she sighed, and closed her eyes again, resolving to ignore her awareness of the contact just as she tried to ignore the background burn of pain. She was so terribly, awfully exhausted. But the weight of the exhaustion was still insufficient against the excruciating ache of her hand.

She breathed, slow and measured, and the night wore on.

 

 

\---

 

 

When Rayla woke him in the morning, her voice was oddly rough and scratchy. Tired, maybe. He didn’t have much time to process this before she’d left the tent, leaving the cool morning air intruding in her wake. Callum yawned, rubbed his eyes, and peeled himself from his cloak, helping Ez sit up so he didn’t just fall asleep again. His brother really did sleep like a swamp, sometimes. “Everything alright?” he asked him, shaking off his own grogginess to inspect him and the egg.

“Mmyeah.” Ez expressed, sleepily, as he blinked his eyes a few times to clear them. “Kinda hungry though.”

He shifted uneasily. “….Yeah, I guess stickyweed isn’t too filling, huh.” He said, slowly, feeling the same sort of emptiness rumbling in his own gut.

They’d all eaten their fill of the stuff, last night. There had been loads of it. But when it was just light greens and fruit, there was a weird feeling to filling oneself on it. Like it wasn’t so much the familiar sensation of being actually satisfied, and full, but more just as if he couldn’t eat any more. Plants and fruit just didn’t feel _filling,_ and he got hungry a lot faster after eating them than he was used to.

If they had bread, or pastry, or oats, or whatever – it would be fine. But they didn’t. And they didn’t have money to buy any, either. So…he really needed to have the killing-animals-for-food talk with Ezran. He wasn’t sure why he was hesitating so much. Ez had been fine with the fish, right? But…still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it would be an upsetting topic for him. Ez really had a way with animals, after all.

Ez squinted up at him, eyes bleary, as if discerning his misgivings from his expression. “…Is something wrong?” he asked, faintly suspicious, and Callum did his very best to stop his face from doing whatever apparently-revealing thing it was doing.

“Of course not!” he lied, laughing nervously as he ducked to the side to roll up his cloak-bedroll. “Hahaha. Nope. Nothing wrong here. What could _possibly_ be wrong?”

His brother stared at him and blinked slowly. “…Rayla’s _hand,_ maybe?”

Callum’s hand stilled for a second on the fur as he held it in place, and then he kept moving, reaching for the rope to tie the bedroll. “…Well.” He cleared his throat. “There _is_ that.”

“I wonder how she’s doing this morning.” Ez said, brows lightly furrowed, as he moved himself and the egg from his cloak, and gently nudged Bait from it too. “She always leaves the tent so fast after she wakes us up.”

Callum peered, a little uneasily, out of the tent flap. He could see her kneeling by the campfire, burying the ashes into the needle-ridden loam of the forest floor. The line of her shoulders seemed a little tense, but it was hard to tell from this far away. “…Well, I’ll help you pack up, and then we can go ask, alright?” he suggested, suddenly aware that the tent doors were open and, considering she’d been able to hear Ezran _breathing_ in the tent yesterday, she could probably hear them now just fine.

…He wondered if that meant she’d heard them talking yesterday.

…Hopefully she’d fallen asleep fast enough to miss it.

Uncomfortable, he went about helping Ez roll his own cloak up, and then affixing it to his bag, and finally putting the Dragon Prince back into said bag. They pulled on their boots and headed outside, where Rayla had finished attending to the campfire and was now folding up the clothes she’d washed yesterday…and, he couldn’t help but notice, she was doing it one-handed.

“Morning, Rayla!” Ezran chirped, before he could, and stopped to tilt his head at her a second before she turned around. When she did, both of them stopped short.

“…Morning, Ez. Callum.” She said, after a pause, voice weary and almost resigned. Her voice was still scratchy, too, but-

“You look _terrible._ ” Ez blurted, and hurried over to her in a second, Callum rushing after him after a second’s pause, utterly stunned. Because…well, he might not have put it in those words, exactly, but _Lord and Lady_ she looked _exhausted._ The bags under her eyes were nearly the colour of the marks on her face, her skin was pale and sallow, and she might as well have not slept at all by the way she looked.

Rayla offered a smile that looked more like a grimace. “Thanks, Ezran. That means a lot.” She said, dryly, setting the familiar teal of her assassin outfit folded over her left arm. She winced a little at the contact, he noted.

Finally breaking out of his stunned silence, Callum asked “Didn’t you _sleep?_ ” His voice was a little incredulous, and more dismayed than he’d intended.

She grimaced a little more deeply at that, and turned away. “No, not really.” She said, somewhat stiffly, and took her clothes back towards her bag to pack them. The two of them followed after her as if pulled along, lingering anxiously at her heels.

“Why not?” Ezran pressed, worriedly, as she knelt to peel her bag open with one hand. “Was Callum talking too much? Did he kick you in the shins again?”

Callum made a face at him for that, but it did pull a tired-sounding huff of laughter from Rayla, so he sort of felt inclined to forgive it. “… _Did_ I?” He asked, warily, looking down at her.

“You only talked once.” She answered, glancing up briefly, her lips twitching in a pale shadow of amusement. “Something about apples. But no, don’t worry. You didn’t…kick me in the shins.” There was something odd about the way she said that, but frankly he was too focused on how utterly _wrecked_ she looked to pay much attention to deciphering it. And then she moved the folded clothes from over her arm and into the bag, and-

“Your hand.” He realised, staring at it as apprehension settled in his gut. He was moving forwards to kneel beside her before he quite knew what he was doing, inspecting the hand and the skin around the binding with a careful eye. He had an excellent memory for visual detail, so he felt fairly certain in assessing that the swelling around the bind had _not_ looked that dark yesterday. “…It kept you awake?” he asked, a moment later, voice soft. Unhappy.

She looked across at him, expression a little inscrutable. “…Pretty much.” She agreed, and reached out to rest her non-awful hand briefly on his shoulder, a little awkward. “I’ll be fine, though, so…don’t worry?” She suggested, as though uncertain whether she was asking him or telling him. She stilled for a second, as if considering saying something else, and in turn Callum considered informing her that advising him not to worry was like advising a river to run uphill. It just wasn’t going to work.

He shifted, debating making an actual attempt at pretending not to worry, and abruptly decided against it. “Can I take a look?” He asked, drawing a somewhat guarded stare from her.

In the end, though, she sighed, looking too exhausted to argue, and offered him her left hand. “Sure. Whatever.” She said, tiredly. “Just…be careful.” She didn’t elaborate on that warning, but he could guess at its reasoning well enough: the hand must be especially sore, now.

He rested his fingertips around her hand as gently as he could, feeling the cold of the skin, and the less-cold skin around the edges of the binding. He winced a little on her behalf at seeing it more closely, because it looked _painful._ The skin looked bloated, strangely smooth and swollen, as if inflated with fluid. And – he looked up, and saw her twitching a little, in that restrained sort of way she did when she was trying to pretend something didn’t hurt, _just_ from feather-light touches on the skin of the hand. It must be horribly sore.

 _No wonder_ it had kept her awake. This was…bad.

His gut clenched with worry, and he clung to the day’s plans as comfort. They’d find something to help her, surely. _Surely._ He exhaled, and ran his eyes over the rest of her hand, frowning. “How is it to move, today?” He asked, noting how stiffly she was holding it.

She grimaced, and after a second curled her fingers slowly into her palm and then out again. By the tightening of her expression, it was not a pleasant experience. “Painful.” She answered, succinctly. “I’ve been trying not to move it so much.”

Callum thought of blood circulation, and nearly spoke, but held his tongue before the words emerged. He wasn’t _certain_ that moving the hand would help anything, after all, and he didn’t want to suggest something that would hurt. “…Right.” He said eventually, hollowly, and carefully turned her hand over.

And frowned.

She caught his eye, lips turning down, and followed his gaze to a spot on her last finger, between the first and second knuckles. “I’m not completely sure what that is.” She said, quietly, as he peered worriedly at it. “Must have come in overnight.”

“What _what_ is?” Ez asked, finally speaking up after watching the inspection in an unhappy silence. He craned his neck to inspect the hands held between them, and then saw. “…Oh. That looks-“

“Looks kind of like a blister.” Callum said, brow furrowed. The spot on Rayla’s finger was much lighter than the rest of the bruise-dark skin, but not in a healthy-looking way. It was sort of…hollowed and loose-looking, like wet paper suspended over a shallow pit. The thing was roughly circular, and not especially large – maybe the size of her fingernail – but still…it was worrying.

“A blister that’s not popped yet.” Ez agreed, expression torn between concerned and confused. “Is that normal?”

Callum and Rayla shared a glance. “I have no idea.” He admitted, after a beat, and tilted his head at the maybe-blister. “What does it feel like?”

“…Like a blister, pretty much.” She said, wryly, and carefully flexed the finger in question. “…Yep.” She confirmed after a moment, expression tightening. “Definitely some kind of blister.”

For a few moments, they all collectively stared at the worrying spot on her hand. For his part, Callum didn’t know enough about healing to know whether blisters were a normal part of a hand having restricted blood-flow or not, but he was fairly sure that it was not a good sign.

“…I guess that’s something else to ask the healer about.” He said, eventually, and released her hand. She stepped back, and after a moment, returned to the business of packing up the camp one-handed.

“If we can find one.” She muttered, almost too quietly to hear, and he shot her a pained look.

“…Yeah.” He said, cleared his throat, and knelt down to help. “Well, I guess we should try to get to Verdorn as early as we can, right? Give us more time for…healer stuff.”

“Stop fussing over my hand and get the tent packed, then.” She told him, lips twitching upwards, and stuffed her clothes into her bag. He shrugged agreeably, and reached out to steer Ez back to the tent.

Having apparently finished everything else, Rayla came with them into the tent to help pack up their things, and again did more-or-less everything one-handed. She kept her bound hand curled carefully into her chest the whole time, as if she were worried about knocking it on something.

There was an odd moment, after they’d packed the bags and were vacating the tent’s interior, where Rayla passed Ezran his bag – supporting it for a second with her bad hand – and he stopped short for a moment, a strange look passing over his face. He held the bag gingerly in his hands, blinking at it, as if it had done something surprising. After a second he shoved a hand into its interior, pressing it to the shell of the egg within, and held it there as his expression settled into pensiveness.

“…Something wrong?” Rayla asked, noticing this as Callum had, her eyes flickering between the bag and Ezran.

Ez looked up at her, and stared for a second, unusually thoughtful. “…Nothing’s wrong.” He said, a little furtively, and removed his hand from the bag.

Callum eyed him dubiously. “…Are you sure?”

“’Course.” Ez answered, too-brightly, as he pulled himself and his bag outside. Callum shared a sceptical and somewhat suspicious look with Rayla, but neither of them pressed the issue, and followed Ezran outside to pack up the tent.

Packing up camp was becoming rote and familiar now, and by the time they were done, the activity seemed to have done Rayla some good. She still moved sluggishly, stiff and halting from exhaustion, but her eyes were a little more alert. Hopefully she’d manage the day alright. He resolved, very firmly, to procure some sort of pain relief for her.

 

\---

 

They set off hungry, not having anything available for breakfast, and Rayla apologetically announced she’d keep an eye out for edible plants on the way. So saying, she shot Callum a look, which he took to mean that she was growing impatient with his lack of discussion of the hunting-thing. He shifted uncomfortably, but didn’t say anything. He glanced at Ezran a few times as they walked, who was hungry but not overtly complaining about it much, and felt the distinctive churn of guilt in his gut.

After a while Rayla conceded the last of her moonberry juice to Ez, giving Callum another pointed _look_ as she did so.

And…yeah, she had a point. She wasn’t _saying_ anything, but she had a point. It was not very big-brotherly of him to hold off on an uncomfortable conversation that would allow them to have things to eat. It was also not responsible of him. Aunt Amaya would be _so_ unimpressed. He ducked his head, guilty, but still couldn’t quite bring himself to start the discussion. It probably wasn’t even that big of a deal. Ezran had eaten the fish fine, right? He’d understand. It shouldn’t be so hard to talk to him about, but…

He didn’t speak, and felt the weight of Rayla’s disapproving stare on his back.

The way ahead today was very conspicuously uphill. At first, this made his stiff legs hurt, but then they sort of loosened out and got used to it, and it was fine. At least for the first hour or so, after which they started to burn with exertion, he found himself sweating through his jacket, and he settled into a perpetual state of vaguely laboured breathing. Ez didn’t seem to be doing any better, and after some brief discussion, Callum took over carrying Bait to make things a bit easier on him.

“You two doing okay?” Rayla inquired, after this was done, looking between two somewhat out-of-breath princes with a raised eyebrow.

“Uh…mostly.” Callum said, making a face, and taking the opportunity to stop still for a minute and catch his breath. “It’s just…kind of…hilly. And steep.”

“It’s kind of tough keeping up.” Ezran agreed, passing a waterskin over to him. Callum took it gratefully and took several good-sized swigs of water, raising a hand to wipe sweat from his brow.

Rayla tilted her head at them. “Sorry to say it’s going to be that way for a while, now.” She said, not sounding especially sorry at all. “We’re getting close to the mountains. There’ll be a lot of climbing from here on.”

“Great.” Callum said, unenthusiastically, and passed the waterskin back.

“At least we’ll have some good views?” Ezran pointed out, optimistically, and he considered that as they resumed walking.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been up a mountain before.” He said, thoughtfully, and considered what it might look like, to stare out at the world from so very high up. He’d been up the towers of Katolis, obviously, and that view was pretty cool itself, and had inspired a lot of landscape studies. He imagined a mountain range would look even more impressive, when he was up on something as tall as another mountain.

Rayla hummed at that. “Best be careful of mountain-sickness then.” She said, squinting at the forest canopy as if she could see the Belt beyond it. “Hopefully we won’t have to go high enough for it to hit you, but…” She shrugged, shifting her bad hand where she held it stiffly at her side.

“…I didn’t even _think_ about mountain-sickness.” Callum said, after a moment, startled.

“What a surprise.” She answered, with just a touch of sarcasm, and he eyed her.

In the end, he decided to ignore that, and asked “if you crossed at Viatori, did you even have to climb any mountains to get here?”

“There’s quite a few mountains by the Breach, you know.” She informed him, dryly, and…yeah, okay, that was a good point. “I’ve had my fair share of snowy slopes and horrible muscle pain.”

Ezran tilted his head at that, plainly interested. “Did _you_ get any mountain-sickness, Rayla?”

She hummed, thoughtful. “Well, kinda. The normal stuff, like finding it harder to breathe – I got that. I didn’t get sick or pass out or anything, though. One of us-“ She broke off, and glanced at them warily, as if she’d been caught on a forbidden topic.

It was a little understandable, he thought, to be wary of mentioning your team of assassins around someone who’d been an assassination target. “One of you?” he prompted her, and after a second she continued.

“One of us got it a lot worse. We had to carry him for half a day and try to get to lower ground.” She shook her head. “ _Please_ none of you get mountain-sickness that bad.”

“I will try my very best.” Callum decreed, diplomatically, and then with a touch of humour, “But you’ve already shown you can carry us, right? If it came down to it…”

She rolled her eyes. “I could carry Ez, maybe. He’d be like a heavy backpack. But you’re a tad bigger than Ezran, Callum. I’d have to take breaks every ten minutes of walking. And if it was both of you? Hah, not a _chance._ So: no mountain-sickness for either of you. You’re not allowed. Alright?”

“Yes ma’am.” Ezran chirped, and flashed her a cheerful smile as they continued on their way.

Along the path, Rayla occasionally stopped to pull various leaves and plants which she claimed were edible raw, if unpleasant-tasting, so they didn’t go completely hungry. They accepted these with equanimity, and hunger was sufficient motivation to get them past the nasty, bitter taste of them. They took the edge off his appetite, maybe, but half an hour later his stomach began to churn unpleasantly – not _painfully,_ but it was certainly uncomfortable. Evidently, his gut did not really approve of raw greenery.

But it was better than nothing, right? And, considering he’d still not had that talk with Ezran…well, nothing was what they’d have, otherwise.

He should really do something about that.

Later.

About an hour and a half after they’d started walking, Rayla stopped to inspect some tree stumps and various wood-chips, discarded branches, and pieces of tree bark all over the place. She declared, shortly afterwards, “We’re either near the town or near a road.”

“…Because of the cut trees?” Callum guessed, wandering over to look.

“Freshly-cut trees.” Rayla nodded, indicating the still-green needles on one of the branches. “Those needles haven’t dried out and died yet. And this all looks recent. I’ll bet it was only cut a few days ago, at most.”

Ez blinked, and crouched to inspect the tree stump for a second. “That’s _smart._ ” He said, admiringly, as he looked at the tree stump. “So you think people probably live near here, if they’re cutting trees?”

“Transporting lumber is hard work.” She agreed, shrugging. “So you don’t really get people cutting trees too far from a road, where you can have animals to pull it on a cart for you.” She tapped her foot, idly, on the loose forest floor, and after a second seemed to come to a decision. “Wait here. I’m going to go look for a road.”

In short order, she found it, and adjusted their course in its direction.

They walked in the tree-line, a good distance from the road, to reduce the likelihood of running into someone who’d object to the sight of an elf. Even at the good fifty-metre remove, though, it was abundantly obvious when they’d found Verdorn.

The forest, already thin from what seemed like a history of enthusiastic logging, fell away completely. After days of walking among the tree-trunks in the shadows of leaves and branches, the sight of the clear space beyond it seemed too-bright, and alarmingly exposed. Callum hesitated at the forest’s edge, oddly nervous, and then finally stepped beyond it. It was _blindingly_ bright _._ He blinked rapidly as his eyes adapted, as the clouded blue of the sky sharpened into definition, and then-

“…Wow.” Ezran said, quietly, as the nearest peaks of the Belt of Katolis came into view beyond the forest’s edge.

Living in the Katolis lowlands, you were aware of the mountains. The Belt cradled the horizon in distant, blue-shaded silhouettes, at such a remove that they barely broke the surface of the fields in some places. From the castle towers, they were more obvious, a jagged frame at the edge of the visible world. They were _distant –_ faraway and out-of-mind – and even on his trips across the kingdom to the Great Bay, he’d never quite grown used to seeing them up close. And _up close_ was certainly the term that applied here.

The mountains loomed before them like giants, rising up from the earth to cast the world into shadow – to cast _Verdorn_ into shadow. The town was there before them at the foot of the slopes, planted delicately outside the valley that lay between the two nearest mountains, a sprawl of rooftops and cobbled streets with roads winding out into the forest beyond their settlement. A river spilled out from the valley’s mouth, curving through the topmost edge of the town and then slipping into the trees. There was something strangely familiar about the sight of the two peaks towering above that town, and he puzzled on it for several seconds before he realised – one was markedly taller than the other. It reminded him, a little, of the uneven towers of Katolis, casting long shadows across their denizens.

“…That one’s Dorel, I think.” Callum said, slowly raising his hand to point out the taller mountain. “And the smaller one is Farel. And – oh, man – it’s Dorel we have to cross, isn’t it?”

Rayla shrugged. “You’re the one with the map.” She said, raising a hand to shade her eyes to stare clinically at the mountains. “…We definitely want to avoid the smaller one, though. Look how many roads there are.”

“…Roads?” Ez asked, doubtfully, as he squinted. “I don’t see anything.”

She knelt beside him for a second and raised her good hand to point out a dark, subtle line in the trees along Farel’s slope. “See where the trees don’t line up quite right? There’s a road there, through the forest. The humans _use_ that mountain.”

“Oh, I see it now!” Ezran sounded fascinated as he leaned forwards. “What do they use it for?”

“Travel, maybe? Or logging?” Rayla offered, uncertain. “I’m not an expert on human towns.”

“Verdorn is a logging and mining town mainly, I think. Maybe they’ve got a mine up there.” Callum said, inspecting the road-line she’d pointed out. And, now that she’d noted that…he could see a few more, winding around the mountainside. “I wonder why they’re not using Dorel?”

“Harsher terrain, maybe.” She suggested, which wasn’t especially comforting. “Or less metal. Or more avalanches. Who knows.”

Callum eyed her. “…Well, _that_ sounds great for us.” He said, a little sarcastically. She shrugged at him in a sort of ‘ _what-can-you-do’_ sort of way.

“Can’t we just walk through that valley instead?” Ez asked, pointing it out, and Callum considered it, swinging his sketchbook around to open his map.

“…No, I don’t think so.” He said, after looking at it, and consulting his memory for details. “Yeah, I thought I remembered something like that…There’s a big waterfall through there, and cliffs on all sides. Verdorn uses the river for milling. I don’t know if we’d be able to find a safe path up the mountains through there. It’s kind of more of a gorge than a valley.”

Rayla sighed. “Figures.”

“If we go over Dorel to Iasolek to Asancil, I’m pretty sure that’s like, the fewest-mountains way to the Rhodane. In this part of the Belt, anyway.” Callum said, trying for confidence but not really succeeding. It was much harder to be confident about mountain-crossing plans when one of said mountains was looming almost directly ahead of you, alarmingly close and alarmingly large. Whenever he’d seen mountains up-close in the past, it had never been with the expectation that he’d need to _cross_ them – they’d just been cool-looking features of the scenery.

There was something very different, and very daunting, about looking at that mountain, and knowing that he’d have to surpass it.

And the far-off silhouettes behind Dorel – which peaks were they? Were any of them Iasolek? Was one Asancil, the third-tallest mountain in the kingdom? Was he, even now, resting his eyes on silhouettes that his feet would have to carry him to?

He’d been walking for days, now. His steps were taking him further and further from home. But he’d never quite understood, in his head and heart, the sheer _immensity_ of the road ahead of them…Not until now, staring at peaks that ought to have been just scenery, just the beauty of the earth, but were instead _destinations._ Obstacles, even. Gigantic, towering obstacles.

A hand touched lightly to his arm, and he jumped a little, startled out of the somewhat overwhelmed daze that the mountains had instilled in him. Rayla was looking at him, quietly concerned, and he realised he’d been silent for a while.

“…We have a _really_ long way to go.” He said, in response to the silent, questioning way she was watching. “Somehow I don’t think I really realised that, until just now.”

Her head dipped a little, understanding, and then she smirked. “Well, look on the bright side.”

He eyed her. “…The bright side of what?”

She pointed at Dorel, its edge sheathed in sunlight. “The bright side of that mountain.” She said, with an affected cheer that felt somewhat teasing. “Once we get _to_ that bright side, your legs will probably start hurting less.”

Callum, whose legs were already sore from just a few hours of uphill walking, did not find this especially encouraging. “…Sure.” He sighed, eventually. “Why not. Let’s just ignore the horrible pain that awaits our legs until then.”

She patted him on the back. “That’s the spirit.” She congratulated, and then turned to peer down at Verdorn. “So. What’s the plan for the town?”

He straightened a little at that, exchanging a glance with Ez. “Er…well, me and Ez go in and ask around for healers? And then go talk to them?” he shrugged.

“Seems pretty straightforward to me.” Ezran agreed.

Rayla folded her arms. “And I suppose I just stand around out here doing nothing, do I?” She sounded thoroughly sceptical.

“…You could look for a good place to camp?” Callum suggested.

“We are _not_ camping any less than an hour from a town full of humans.” She informed him flatly. “Keep that in mind while you’re larking about in town – we _will_ be walking more once you’re done.”

He shrugged. Well, they _had_ only been walking for less than half their usual time, so it was fair enough. “Well, maybe not camping, then, but you could look for some tasty plants, or something?”

She frowned at him then, rocking forward a little on her toes like she wanted to step forwards with them. “…Honestly, I don’t like you two going off so far into that town alone.” She admitted, brow creasing. “If I stay out here, I won’t be able to hear if something goes wrong.”

He considered that, and turned back with as reassuring a smile as he could manage, reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll be fine.” He promised, more confidently than he felt. “I’ve got a primal stone and two spells, right? If anything happens, we’re not exactly defenceless.”

Her eyes flickered up to his, and by some fortune, the tense line of her shoulders did actually ease a little, though not entirely. “…I’ll give you that, I suppose.” She sighed, plainly not entirely convinced, and cast sceptical eyes out towards the spectacle of the town ahead of them, as if surveying it for signs of trouble.

It was, actually, kind of nice to see that she _was_ worried. He’d somehow not considered that she might fret over their safety like they did over hers. He felt his smile soften a little, and withdrew his hand. “Besides, an elf walking into town would pretty much guarantee we’d run into trouble.” He pointed out, as light-heartedly as he could. “People would probably, you know, _notice._ ” Ez snickered a little beside him, so he’d probably succeeded at the ‘light-hearted’ part.

Rayla, though, didn’t react however he’d expected. She went still, a spark of something new flickering to life in her eyes. Interest, with a hint of the mischief he’d seen from her yesterday during the whole stickyweed thing. It was the most awake and engaged he’d seen her look today. “…Or _would_ they?” She mused, as if to herself, as a secretive smile spread over her lips.

He exchanged a glance with Ez, who spoke up. “I mean, the horns _are_ pretty hard to miss.” He pointed out, sensibly. “And the ears. And you don’t really see people with white hair around, either.”

That smile widened, just a touch. In a thought-fast movement he could barely follow, Rayla ducked around to – apparently – open his bag and shove her good hand into its contents, coming out with a familiar black swathe of fabric that looked like his light travel-cloak. A second later, she swept it around in a grand, flaring motion, hood already up, and fingers moving at her collar to fasten it. “No horns, no ears, no hair.” She declared, with more cheer than he’d have expected her to muster under the circumstances, and raised her hand to tug the hood forward a little, shading her eyes. “Human Rayla, at your service!” With that, she clasped her good hand to her chest in a somewhat over-dramatic imitation of a salute. Ezran laughed, plainly delighted.

Callum…was not convinced. “I’m really not sure that’s going to cut it.” He said, doubtfully, and folded his arms. Bait, at Ezran’s feet, croaked at her in a way Callum chose to interpret as similarly dubious.

“Well, I don’t see why not.” She said, voice unexpected dropping into an…actually pretty good east-country accent, with the rounded syllables and familiar folksy drawl. She could have easily come from one of the Bay towns, speaking like that. “I’m just a simple human girl, who likes the human things!”

It _was_ nice to see her spirits a little higher, so he hesitated for a second before raining on her parade – just long enough for Ezran to eagerly chip in. “What sort of human things?” he inquired, eyes bright, holding Bait up as if to give the glow-toad a better view of…‘Human Rayla’.

She considered that for a second. “Bread.” She decided. “And roads. And complainin’ about weather.”

“Oh, that’s good.” Ezran said appreciatively. “People are _always_ complaining about the weather.” She bowed a little at this, grinning, and he narrowed his eyes at the plainly four-fingered hand clasped to her chest.

People were, indeed, always complaining about the weather. _But_. “I think people will probably still notice the hands.” He said, dryly, and she blinked down at them with sudden surprise.

“…Didn’t think of that.” She admitted, startled out of the accent, and tilted her head. A second later, she was rummaging in his bag again. “But! These should do the trick.” She flourished the gloves at him, and after a few seconds, he reluctantly huffed a laugh at her.

“What, a disguise for your hands?” he asked, wry, and she nodded smartly at him.

“Hand disguises.” She agreed, and pulled one carefully onto her bad hand with only the slightest of flinches. She had somewhat more difficulty with the right glove, given that she needed to move and manipulate it using the stiff and sore fingers of her left hand.

Callum watched her face tighten as she gripped it, the skin near her eyes twitching a little as she held the glove in place, and – “Here, let me,” he was saying, before he even knew he was saying it, reaching out to help her with the glove himself.

She shot him a narrow-eyed, almost _warning_ look for that, but didn’t say anything. He guessed that this was probably at the limit of stuff she was willing to let him help her with – at least for now – and took advantage of it, easily slipping the glove onto her better hand. “…Thanks.” She said, after a moment, just a little begrudgingly. She held her gloved hands up, and watched the little fingers droop. “…Well, it’s not perfect, but it’ll do.” She decided.

“Maybe next time we can put twigs in, or something.” Ezran suggested, inspecting their handiwork. “But I bet it’ll be fine. Just maybe don’t wave at anyone?”

“Or shake hands.” Callum added.

Ezran thought for a half-second. “Or offer to carry anyone’s groceries.”

“Or-“

“I get it,” Rayla interrupted, rolling her eyes. “I shouldn’t let anyone get a close look. Are we going into town or not?”

Callum exchanged another glance with his brother, and shrugged. “I mean, sure?” He offered, with a lopsided smile. “Just…don’t come near the healers. They’d definitely want to see your hand, if we were talking about it, and if you were _there_.”

“I’ll stay out of sight.” She promised, and nodded her head towards the town. “Let’s be off, then. Get this over with.”

They all collectively stared at the still relatively-distant sight of Verdorn for a few seconds, then set off to the road. It wasn’t much of a walk – within ten minutes, they were coming close enough to discern the bustle of the town’s inhabitants in the streets, to see the villagers passing along the cobbled roads and going about their business in the manner of townspeople everywhere.

Callum found himself more curious than he’d expected, looking at the buildings and the people passing between them – this, after all, was a new town to him. He’d never visited it before, and it was a very different sort of settlement to the Capital, or even to the maritime towns and cities along the Bay. The walls and rooftops of Verdorn loomed taller as they approached, and he allowed his eyes to wander over the shapes of them, fixing them to memory, looking for anything noteworthy he might want to draw.

It was a little strange, to see a town without walls or fortifications. Every place the King – his father – had taken him…there’d been a military presence. Guard stations. Watch-towers. He thought he spotted a building that might have been a small guard-station, further into the town, but it was hard to see from here. More distinctive was the sloping roof of what was likely a House of Paragons, over near a graveyard on the north end of the town. He expected there would be a council hall somewhere around the centre of Verdorn, but he certainly couldn’t see that from here.

The houses and buildings were made of grey, oddly slatted stone. He inspected it with interest as he drew closer, and identified it after a few minutes as slate. He supposed there was probably a lot of slate in the nearby mountains, and that was why they used it for their building material? It was attractive, anyway – the slate gave the houses a darker-looking profile than he was used to, and the flower-baskets hanging from the windows offered a pleasingly bright contrast against the grey.

He was occupied enough with staring at the buildings that he barely noticed when they arrived at the edge of them, passing into the streets and slipping amongst the villagers. Rayla elbowed him, eventually, and he snapped to attention, laughing nervously as he noticed the curious glances being thrown their way by the people around them.

“Oh, we’re here.” He observed, sheepishly, as they kept walking.

Rayla rolled her eyes at him. “Thank you for noticing.” She said, discreetly tugging a little at her hood, as if to make sure it was still properly in place. “Where are we walking to now, exactly?”

“Er.” Callum said, intelligently, and then mustered an actual answer. “We’ll head to the middle of town, see if there’s a market we can ask around at?”

A nearby villager, apparently overhearing, stepped closer for a second to point helpfully down a particular road. “Market’s that way. It’ll pack up in an hour or two though, so best not take too long.” She said, flashing a quick smile, before hurrying off with what looked like several sacks of soil slung over her shoulders.

They exchanged glances and shrugged. “Well, you heard her.” Rayla said, and they agreeably adjusted their course.

Callum was expecting the marketplace to be a cheerful and bustling centre of activity for the town, if only because that was just how markets _worked_. No matter how big or small the settlement, the marketplace contained its essence condensed into a few streets or a village square; you could tell a lot about a town by its markets – by what was being sold, and who was selling it, and who was buying it. At the Great Bay, for instance, there was an overwhelming presence of fishmongers, and jewellers working with pearls and shells and corals, and a hundred other trades endorsed by the sea. Other towns, more mountain-bound, had the wares of leather-workers or shepherds on display.

All told, Callum _loved_ markets – loved the variety, loved the activity, and delighted in the insight they gave into all the different ways people lived. There was always so much going on – so many interesting things on display, such varied inventories, all bursts of colour and life and vivacity in the heart of civilization.

He’d seen and drawn a _lot_ of marketplaces over the years, the Capital’s most of all. Verdorn was obviously a much smaller settlement than the capital city, and wasn’t terribly large even for a town, but he was interested to see its market even so. He expected it to be busy. Expected it to be the heart of Verdorn, as a market should be, full of noise and colour.

So, when they drew into a surprisingly quiet and subdued street full of townspeople and market-stands, the contrast compared to normal market-atmosphere was…noticeable. And a little concerning.

He stopped just outside the first street of the market, uneasy, and the others stopped beside him. “Callum?” Rayla said, eyes flicking to the modest crowds ahead. “Something wrong?” She nudged them into a quiet, shaded corner away from the eyes of the townspeople, perhaps to give him room to answer without being heard.

“…Not sure.” He said, after a moment, and inspected the populace. They were doing normal market-things. Talking to proprietors. Haggling. Exchanging money for goods. Staring at goods while contemplating whether or not to buy them. It was all very typical, except for how _quiet_ it was. The talking was subdued, the haggling was oddly restrained, and the whole market seemed to be maintaining a strange hush, as if its usual vivacity had been muffled under a heavy shroud. “It’s…too quiet. Kind of weird.”

The other two were silent for a few moments while he tried to discern whether or not this was a sign of trouble, but then Ezran tugged on his sleeve. “Um. Maybe it’s…” he trailed off, and pointed.

Callum followed his gaze, and – “Oh.” He said, a little quietly, at the ceremonial torch-stand on the street corner. It had been equipped with a long candle on either side of the central flame, which was unusual, but – there was no mistaking what it was. “…Yeah, that would do it.”

Rayla’s eyes moved between them and the torch. “…What is it?” She asked, a little wary, a little uncertain.

“Memorial flames.” He answered, running his eyes along the street and spotting another, and another, and…yeah, that had to be it. It was weird that they were lighting the fires in threes, he’d never heard of that being a thing before, even when multiple people were being mourned, but… “Someone must have died recently.”

She stiffened at that, and her head lowered a little, shading her eyes. “…I see.” She said, voice a little odd.

“Makes sense the market is quiet, I guess. In a town this small, probably most people know each other.” Callum reflected.

Rayla shifted, silent, for a few seconds, and then spoke. “Let’s keep focused, alright? Go find someone to ask for directions.”

He nodded, and together they walked in amongst the stalls of the market, eyeing the crowds for any likely-looking citizens. In the end he approached a man who was packing his purchases into a bag beside a smallish statue of a woman with a pickaxe, negotiating several loaves of bread into the limited space. Callum felt his stomach rumble at the sight of it, but ignored it. “Excuse me,” He said, politely, and the man looked up reflexively. His eyes ran over them with mild surprise, and he waited politely for Callum to continue speaking. “Could you point us to a Healer, please? I mean, if Verdorn has one.” _Please, please let Verdorn have one._

He blinked at them. “Sure.” He said, after a moment, and tilted his head to look at them. “You kids travelling? Haven’t seen you around before.”

“Er, yes.” He agreed quickly. “We’re travelling to, um,” he scrambled for a good story and realised belatedly that they probably should have worked one out before coming here.

“To see family.” Rayla took over for him, a tad hastily, in her put-on East-country accent. “Over by the Bay.”

“Hah. You’ve got the accent, for sure, miss.” He chuckled a little, straightening up. “I guess you grew up there yourself? Well, anyway-“

“I got the meat.” A new voice announced, and they looked over to see a woman approaching, with the same black hair and pale green eyes as the man. She eyed them appraisingly. “Who’re these, then?”

“Some kids who want directions to a Healer.” He explained on their behalf. “Was just about to tell them where to find Marla.”

“Huh.” The woman remarked, and turned to them. “Well, yep, Marla’s the town Healer, alright. She lives close to the outskirts of town, not far from the House of Paragons, if you know where that is?”

“…North side of town, right?” He guessed, remembering the sloping roof near the graveyard.

She nodded. “Yep. Just a few doors down from there. She’s got a sign, should be easy enough to find.”

“I wonder why she lives out on the edge of town.” Ezran spoke, with interest. “You’d think a Healer would live in the middle, right? So she’s closer to everyone.”

The man shrugged. “Well, I don’t exactly know her that well, but I think she grows some of her own medicinal herbs. You need garden space for that.”

The woman snorted a little, as if remembering something amusing, and said “If you don’t want to walk that far, you could always stop in on old man Farthing.” She smirked a little. “He’s only a few minutes away, near the town hall. _Much_ closer.”

Her companion eyed her disapprovingly. “ _Mel._ ” He complained. “Really?”

“What?” She defended, shrugging, the smirk still on her lips. “He’s a healer. Sort of.”

“ _Sort of_ is right, you know damn well he’s not accredited.”

Callum shared a glance with Rayla, and then Ez, and asked “So wait, there’s another healer, but like…not a proper, Guild-trained, actual Healer? Is he a medic?”

The two townspeople looked back at him. The man took it on himself to answer first, saying “Er, not a medic either, no. He just…Farthing has some…unusual ideas about medicine.” His words sounded decidedly careful, as though he were doing his best not to outright insult the man. “And no, he’s certainly not Guild-accredited. Or even college-accredited, so he’s no doctor either. But, technically, I suppose you _could_ call him a healer. Just…not a _Healer_ healer.”

Callum exchanged another glance with Rayla, this time a sort of sceptical one. She shrugged at him. “…Well, he’s kind of on the way to the proper Healer, so we might as well stop by?” he said, in the end. “By the town hall, you said?”

“About three houses behind it, yep.” The woman agreed, and pointed down the road towards what looked like an open square in front of a large and stately sort of building. Her companion continued to stare at her, thoroughly unimpressed.

“…Well, we’d best be off, then.” Rayla interceded, as if to prevent the conversation from growing past its bounds, and nudged Callum and Ez in the direction specified. “Thanks for your help!”

“No problem!” Said the smirking-woman, and she waved at them as they left.

“That was kind of weird.” Ezran said, when they were far away enough they probably wouldn’t be heard. “I mean, you’d think if someone wasn’t a Healer or doctor or working with one, they wouldn’t bother. And not even a _medic?_ Why would anyone even listen to him?”

“Maybe it’s different in smaller towns.” Callum reasoned, a little dubiously. In Katolis, at least, Ezran was right – it was a Healer or a doctor or their apprentices or nothing. Maybe an Acolyte of Mercy, if you were _really_ bad off. But, maybe, in less populated settlements… “I guess there’s probably not enough Healers to get an accredited one at _every_ little town like this.” He’d never quite thought about it – but if the Guild was really as exclusive and special as everyone said, then there _couldn’t_ be enough Healers for everywhere.

“I’ll take your word for it.” Rayla said, looking vaguely interested, but evidently not enough so to ask for clarification. “I’m a little more curious about the ‘unusual ideas about medicine’ part, myself. Sounds…sketchy.” As she spoke, they passed the mouth of the street and passed into an open square, populated by a few market stalls and decorations. The town hall was obvious and distinctive at its end, a large and well-kept building surrounded by open spaces bearing large and attractive arrangements of gigantic flower-beds, bursting with spring blooms. Flags fluttered in the wind atop the roof of the hall, bearing the familiar gold standard of the Towers on familiar red. He found his eyes drawn to them, oddly compelled, because there was something strange about those flags.

It only took him a second to realise why.

The flags were half-way down their poles. They were flying half-mast.

He stared at them, a strange chill passing over his spine. His eyes moved between the two visible flags, silent, and he didn’t realise he’d stopped walking until Rayla nudged him.

“What is it?” She asked, following his gaze quizzically to the flagpoles. “…Is there something important about those flags?”

Ezran looked up, blinking, and tilted his head. “They’re half-mast.” He commented, a little surprised, a little thoughtful. “That’s a bad thing, right? Callum?”

He didn’t answer, still-staring, as though the voice had been stilled from him along with the movement.

Rayla frowned, dubious. “What’s so _bad_ about a flag not being up properly?”

“Means something bad happened, I think.” Ez answered, and after a moment, reached over to tug on his sleeve. “…Callum?” He sounded a little worried now, perhaps clued in by his brother’s silence. Callum still couldn’t quite bring himself to answer, mind gripped by an awful memory, an awful thought.

…You could fly a flag half-mast for any number of reasons. None of them _pleasant,_ maybe, but there were a lot of things it could mean. A lot of things that weren’t – well. There could have been a terrible fire that wiped out a town. There could have been a landslide, or an awful storm. There could have been a disaster or massacre or…or death of a head of state in a _foreign_ kingdom – the human kingdoms did do that, they did lower the flags in solidarity for the losses of their allies, it could – it could just be that. Just a disaster in another kingdom. Something horrible, but _far-away._ It could be so many things. It didn’t – it didn’t mean-

He swallowed. “It’s probably nothing.” He said, voice sounding strange and distant, like someone else was uttering the words for him. “Just…means something bad happened in Katolis, or one of the other kingdoms.”

It didn’t have to mean anything. Just because – just because the last time he saw – _it didn’t have to mean anything._

He forced a smile. “Come on, the weird-healer should be pretty close.” He said, determinedly, and kept walking, ignoring the looks that Rayla and Ezran shot him as they followed.

It didn’t have to mean anything. It was probably nothing.

But still. Still, he couldn’t help but remember another time the flags had flown low across the kingdom, the last time the streets had been littered with memorial flames burning for seven days and seven sunsets, the aching void his mother’s death had left in the city and the castle and his _life_ -

He breathed through old pain, old grief, and refused to think about it.

 _It hasn’t been a week since we left, yet,_ a part of him whispered, as they passed by another triad of bright flames. _Seven days. Seven sunsets. It could be-_

He _refused to think about it,_ and kept walking.

Sure enough, they found the unofficial-healer’s building without much difficulty. It bore a sign hanging by the door, as well as a board a little way out into the street advertising ‘traditional and natural remedies for illnesses and ailments’.

“Well, that looks like it’s the place.” He said, determinedly averting his mind from things that weren’t real, weren’t true, just the trappings of his anxious thoughts. “Rayla, you wait out here, okay? Me and Ez will go in to talk to him.”

“Callum.” She said, catching him by the arm to stop him before he left.

He turned and blinked at her. “…Yeah?”

“If you get a chance, ask him if he knows somewhere nearby where there’s willow trees.”

Somewhat mystified, he furrowed his brows at her. “…Okay, but why?”

“If he knows anything, he’ll know why.” She said, and pushed him gently in the direction of the alleged healer’s residence. “Go on. I’ll be waiting over here.”

He eyed her for a few seconds, in case she was planning to offer any sort of clarification or further commentary, but she just gestured impatiently at the building and folded her arms. He shrugged, and turned with Ez towards the door. “Well, okay. C’mon Ez, let’s go see if this healer can help us.”

“They did say this guy was a bit weird.” Ezran said, as they drew close enough to the door to knock. “Maybe we should just go to the other one?”

“Weird might be good.” Callum reasoned, raising his hand. “Weird might mean he has ideas we don’t, right? Better than nothing. And if this one doesn’t work out, there’s always the second one.”

“I guess.” Ezran sighed, and watched as he knocked three times on the solid wood of the door.

 

\---

 

Fifteen very alarming and bewildering minutes later, Callum and Ezran burst from the so-called-healer’s door as if pursued by an angry banther. Callum slammed the door shut on the crazy, awful, no-good man, mercifully drowning out his last screech of _“Come back here and embrace alternative medicine, damn you!_ ”

“’Weird might be good’ I said,” Callum muttered to himself, mockingly, as he drew his brother frantically away from the house full of madness. “’ _Better than nothing,’_ I said! Ez, if I ever say something that stupid again, _kick me_ , okay?”

“I can do that.” Ez agreed, casting a wild-eyed glance back at the door. “I mean…wow.”

‘Wow’, In Callum’s opinion, was not an emphatic enough remark for this situation. He put sincere effort into distancing himself and Ezran from the place as soon as possible, and only remembered that Rayla was waiting nearby when he spotted her to the side, leaning against a wall. “Oh, hi, Rayla.” He said, distractedly, and then wondered- “Did you hear any of that?”

“A bit.” She said, lips twitching as she kicked off from the wall. “He seemed...spirited.” She fell into step with them as they (or, really, mainly Callum) powerwalked away from the crazy house with the crazy healer.

“He was crazy!” Callum exclaimed, stomping down the streets as if to exorcise his agitation on the cobblestones, throwing up his hands for good measure. “Completely, totally, out-of-his-mind _crazy._ ”

“No wonder that man thought we should see the other one.” Ez said, expression pinched. He didn’t seem as bothered by the affair as Callum, but then again, he knew less about medicine and so probably wasn’t feeling personally offended by the level of ridiculousness that so-called healer was spouting. “He was kinda...”

“Crazy!” Callum insisted, for him, and kept marching along.

“I did wonder if I was hearing right.” Rayla remarked, sounding annoyingly amused given this whole thing was for her benefit. “Did he really suggest _leeches_?”

He gestured towards her, furiously. “He did! And _snakes!_ He very definitely suggested catching _snakes_ and letting them bite you!”

“...I wonder what kind of snakes.” Ezran mused aloud, distracted as always by mentions of animals.

“Does it matter? He suggested _snakes!_ And did you _hear_ him when we mentioned the binding?”

Ez nodded slowly. “That…did seem to set him off a bit.” He said, in a dramatic understatement. It hadn’t been until they mentioned the magic binding that it had become evident how completely and totally off his rocker the old ‘healer’ was, whereupon he’d descended into a fervent rant about how dark magic was the younger and misguided sibling of _real herbalism_ and _true alternative medicine,_ and how if the nobility had any sense, they’d fire their dark mages and take up with a good solid understanding of the bodily humours instead.

“ _Bodily humours,_ ” Callum muttered, half disbelieving and half angry. “I can’t _believe –_ in _Katolis-_ “

Rayla patted him on the shoulder, plainly amused. “The market person _did_ try to warn you.” She said, and steered him so that he was stomping in a different direction, and – oh, right, the second healer was meant to be to the north of town, wasn’t she. “I think that counts as _unusual ideas about medicine.”_

He more-or-less ignored her, and grumbled under his breath almost the entire way to the outskirts of town, though the walk did calm him a little. By the time they found the House of Paragons and navigated around it, he wasn’t stomping quite so vehemently, and he was no longer quite so indignant about the continued practice of such a hack in a civilised Kingdom.

“That looks like the place.” Ezran said, of an average-looking building made more distinctive by the walled garden at its side, and by the bottle-and-laurel symbol hanging from a nearby lamp-post. He put Bait down on the floor beside Rayla, saying “Stay here with Rayla, Bait. That other guy was kind of weird about you.” The toad grumbled at him, but shuffled up to her foot and stayed there.

“Hopefully this one will be a bit more helpful than him.” She remarked, still with more humour than he felt was warranted, and he glared at her half-heartedly.

He squared his shoulders. “Well, only one way to find out.” He said, resolute, and marched towards its door.

“Remember to ask about the trees!” She called after him, as Ezran scrambled to keep up with his steps, and he arrived at the door.

Without ceremony, he knocked loudly, and heard a voice call from inside “Come in!” he waited a second, shrugged, then turned the doorknob to enter the building, Ez trailing at his heels.

He looked around, closing the door, and found a tidy room with several cupboards, shelves, and medical paraphernalia strewn about. At the back of the room was a door, and to the side was an area with two unoccupied beds, both of them sat within cubicles of drawn curtains. Then, finally, there was the woman he assumed was the healer, crossing the room towards them with a slow, strange gait. She observed them curiously and met them half-way through the room, her face lined with the first signs of age, her dark hair peppered with grey. She was probably in her late forties, maybe. He was not especially good at judging age, but that was his best guess.

“Well then, you’re a little younger than the patients I usually see without parents attending them.” She said, as if to get the thought out of the way, and moved on before he had time to do anything more than shuffle uncomfortably. “What can I do to help?”

“Er.” He said, intelligently, and shared a quick glance with Ezran. “I mean, you’re a healer, right? A proper Healer?”

She eyed him, and slowly, said “Yes?” drawing out the word with caution, “Did you expect someone else?”

“Uh. Well.” Callum cleared his throat, trying to find a way to say-

“We visited the other guy near the town hall before we came here.” Ezran informed her, sagely. “He was…weird.”

Instantly, the woman’s whole demeanour shifted.

“Oh, Lord.” She said, chagrined, with dismay dawning on her face. “I do hope you didn’t _listen_ to him. That man is neither accredited nor sane, and the _nonsense_ he claims is healing…“ She shook her head, and then stepped out of the doorway to wave them in. “Better come sit down, so I can clear whatever tripe that old coot filled your heads with.”

“…Okay?” Callum agreed, readily enough, and exchanged a hopeful glance with Ezran before walking after her. If this woman thought poorly enough of that crazy other healer, then that seemed a decent sign that she might be better, right?

Ez followed him, and they lingered in the middle of the room for a minute or so as the woman went off to a small table to clear some of the various jars and healer-things from it, including a rather large granite mortar-and-pestle. She moved in a sort of halting, effortful way that suggested difficulty or pain; an old injury, perhaps.

She pulled up a few chairs and made a move towards one of them. “I’m Marla, by the way, not sure if I mentioned. And I’m the actual Healer-in-residence of Verdorn.” She said, pulling the chair out to settle gingerly into it. “Take a seat, go on.” She gestured at the remaining chairs, expression open and welcoming.

After a second, Callum took the directive and went over to sit, Ez following and scooting his chair closer to him. “…Thanks.” Callum said, politely, and settled a little awkwardly in the chair. They’d planned what to talk about, maybe, and even had _practice,_ but he sort of hoped the healer would speak up first, just to break the ice.

She did, thankfully, settling her hands on the table and looking over at them with interest. “Well then, boys. What brings you to a House of Healing?” She asked, lacing her fingers together. “Neither of you looks sick or injured. Is it a family member?”

They shared a glance. “Well, sorta?” Ezran offered, squinting a little. “But not really.”

“We’re here because of one of our friends.” Callum elaborated, already nervously pulling at the fingers of his gloves. “She…doesn’t think there’s anything we can do, but-“ He shook his head as if to dismiss that track of thought, trying not to notice how the healer woman – Marla – tilted her head with interest. “We just – want to help her, somehow. She’s got this…” He hesitated, fingers curling around one of his wrists as he thought of how best to frame it. “…Someone cast a spell on her. And now she’s got this – unbreakable binding thing around her wrist that keeps getting tighter. She says – she says it’s going to make her hand fall off.” He exhaled, nervous, and watched for the healer’s reaction. This, after all, had been the point where the other guy started getting worryingly erratic.

Marla’s eyes narrowed, but it looked more like pensiveness than suspicion. “ _Magic,_ now _that’s_ something I’ve not had to deal with before. Dark mages, I assume?” She shook her head and went on before Callum was forced to try to lie about it. It was convenient thing for her to assume, all told. “Those are an unnatural sort. How long has your friend had her hand bound?”

“Er.” Callum shared a glance with Ezran. How long _had_ it been?

His brother squinted. “…About a week, maybe?”

He quickly tried to run through the days in his mind, and nodded slowly. “Yeah, something like that. Her hand’s been getting worse the whole time.”

The healer looked alert, now, focused and watchful. “Worse in what way? Describe it to me.”

“It’s, er, purple?” He offered, a little startled at the sudden questioning, and scrambled to arrange all of the things he’d observed into some form of understandable order.

“And painful.” Ez added, brows furrowed, and…well, that was definitely one of the main things.

“Really painful.” Callum agreed. “She’s not been sleeping well, and today there’s even a sort of – it looks like a blister? On the hand? But-“ He hesitated, and wrestled the information into something more organised. “Basically, it’s gone dark-coloured, and it’s colder than it should be, and it hurts her to move or touch? It’s especially sore right around the binding. Sort of swollen.”

The woman made a low _hmm._ It didn’t sound like a positive one. “Well then, your friend is right. If her hand stays like that for long enough, the flesh will die and fall off, or need to be cut off. It’s something I’ve seen before, in soldiers’ injuries. Do you know what a tourniquet is?”

“…yeah, actually.” Callum agreed, and when Ez pulled on his sleeve in wordless demand for explanation, said “It’s a kind of tie you put on someone’s arm or leg when they’ve got a badly-bleeding injury on it, right? Stops them from losing too much blood by stopping the blood from actually getting to it.”

“Well-said.” Marla nodded, approvingly. “A tourniquet can save someone’s life, but if it’s left on for too long – the limb is starved of blood, and eventually dies. It’s better than dying of blood-loss, so the tourniquet is worthwhile wound treatment…but…” She made a low hum, eyes hooded. “Not right for it to happen because of dark magic, though. Not right at all.”

He shuffled uncomfortably, and cleared his throat before speaking again. “Look – we’re trying to find some way to break the magic so we can get the binding off, and save her hand – but if we’re going to do that, we need more _time._ Is there anything we can do to help her? Slow it down?”

“Good question.” Marla said, thoughtful, and leaned back. “Let me think.” She closed her eyes, finger tap-tap-tapping at the table. She muttered to herself, under her breath, as if running through a list. They shuffled uncomfortably in her silence, until she opened her eyes and considered the sight of them. “Well. If you can’t loosen or remove the bind, hmm…” She sighed, frowning lightly. “The limb sickens and dies because of the lack of blood flow. The blood trapped in her hand – that will be going thick and stagnant, and if that progresses too far, the hand will die. So I would say the best way to keep that at bay would be to make sure the blood doesn’t stay completely still.”

Well, that matched their thoughts on blood circulation, at least. “So, she should make sure to move her hand a lot?” He suggested, uncertainly.

“Precisely.” Marla agreed, flexing her own fingers as if to demonstrate. “She should be moving the fingers all the time, to keep the blood moving and circulating. And she should make sure to massage the hand and fingers – particularly the hand – at least once daily, but preferably more. That will promote the circulation as much as is possible, under the circumstances.”

Callum glanced at Ez, who was frowning. “…But, her hand really hurts.” Ezran said, softly.

He nodded, and clarified “She could hardly _touch_ it this morning. Massaging it would probably be…like, seriously painful. She couldn’t even _sleep_ last night.”

“Medicine is often unpleasant.” The healer told them, and, okay, that was fair. But… “If it’s that bad, though, you’ll probably want to find some sort of pain relief for her. Then she can sleep, stretch her hand appropriately, and do her massages without it being too agonising.”

He straightened, half-interested, half-relieved. “Yes, thank you, that’s something we wanted to ask about. Is there something we can give her to get rid of the pain? Or make it a bit better, at least?”

The healer hummed, and her eyes went to her shelves and cupboards thoughtfully. “Well. The obvious one is willow bark.”

He blinked. “…Willow bark.” He repeated.

She nodded distractedly. “The bark of willow trees has a chemical in it that dulls pain. The bark can be chewed, or brewed into a tea, either way works.”

“…That’ll probably be why she told us to ask if there’s any willow trees around, then.” Callum said, ruefully, and the healer laughed.

“She knows something of herbalism herself, I take it? Yes, I suppose I could be a dreadful sort and pretend there’s no willow trees nearby and insist on selling you my own stock – but instead, I’ll tell you that there’s a fine copse of willows near the river, not far from the mouth of the gorge. It’s a bit of a walk, but there should be a lot to be had there, certainly enough to last you.”

Ezran heaved a gigantic sigh of relief at that, and Callum could certainly sympathise. “ _Great,_ thank you so much.” He exhaled, raising a hand to pull at his scarf. “That’ll really help.”

“It’s no problem, boys.” She assured, face sympathetic. “I imagine you’re working with limited funds, here?”

“…You could…certainly say that.” Callum said, after a somewhat nervous second.

She eyed him pensively. “And I also imagine you have no adults you can turn to for help or funding.” She guessed, and, um.

“How did you-“ he started, wary, and then stopped short as if falling silent would take back the unwitting confirmation. “I mean…uh…”

“If you had adults to turn to, they’d be the ones talking to me now.” She said dryly. “I won’t ask what your situation is – you clearly need help, and that’s all that ought to matter.” For a moment, it looked like she was going to say something else, but she shook her head and sighed. “Well, I hope the willow bark is enough.”

Uneasy silence held for several long moments, until Callum cleared his throat again to ask “So…is that it? She just needs to keep her hand moving? Is there anything else that could help?”

“…Not that I could think of.” She said, apologetically. “If you can’t remove the binding itself, that’s about all that can be done here. I’m sorry I can’t help more.”

“That’s okay.” He said automatically, trying not to feel too discouraged. He wasn’t going to pretend that this whole ‘promoting circulation’ thing was anything other than a stopgap measure to slow things down a bit, and…really, how much time could it possibly give them? How much time did they have left to find a solution? “…I don’t suppose you’ve got any special magical artefacts in town? Any magic experts? Anything or anyone that could do something about the binding?” he asked, voice resigned, because he wasn’t expecting any miracles here.

Marla shot him a pitying look. “I’m afraid not.” She said, gentle and sympathetic, and he tried not to let his face fall too conspicuously.

“…Yeah, I figured.” He sighed, and somewhat on instinct, reached out to rub Ezran’s shoulder reassuringly. His eyes flickered to his brother for a moment, uncertain if he really wanted to be addressing this topic in his presence, but…well, Ezran wasn’t going to let himself be kept out of it, so he might as well just accept it. He exhaled, and straightened, and asked “How much time do you think we have? Before her hand is – before it’s too late?”

Ez tensed, and his fingers moved to tighten in Callum’s sleeve. The healer observed them for a second and pursed her lips. “Difficult to say. It depends on how quickly the bind is tightening. If it becomes as tight as an actual tourniquet, the hand will be unsalvageable within hours. Up until then…hmm…” Her eyes went distant as she thought. “You said the skin is cold and dark-coloured. When you press on it, does it go white?”

 “…Yes, actually, it does.” He agreed, worriedly, and felt his shoulders hunching. “Is that…bad?”

“No, it’s a good thing.” The healer denied quickly, and he _almost_ sighed with relief – but then, she kept talking. “Only…you’ll want to keep an eye on that. If it stops going white when you apply pressure, that means the limb is essentially dead, and needs to be removed.” He wasn’t sure how he reacted to that, but it made her eye him sympathetically. “Or if she stops being able to move it at all – that’s also a sign it has gone too far to be saved.”

Callum dropped his eyes and stared at the table. “…Right.” He said, hollowly, and a second later felt Ezran grasping at his hand, a gesture of comfort for the both of them. “So what’s – what are the warning signs? Leading up to that?”

“Loss of sensation.” She said, after a moment. “Being numb to light touch or temperature, that sort of thing. And – correct me if I’m wrong, did you mention a blister?”

“…Yeah. It came in overnight. It hasn’t burst yet, though.” He agreed warily, and pointed out a spot on his ring finger. “It’s sort of…here-ish.”

She grimaced. “I’m afraid to say that is itself a bad sign.” She admitted. “If the hand begins to die, I expect it’ll start there, in that finger. Keep an eye on it, and be careful to avoid letting it get infected.”

He wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he said nothing. Ezran stopped clutching at his sleeve and reached out for his hand instead; he clasped his brother’s smaller hand in his own and stared down at the table. Hopelessness fluttered in his chest, and it was much harder to ignore than before.

“I’d say you have another two or three days at most before you start losing fingers.” The healer added, and that didn’t help his mood in the slightest.

“…Thanks. For telling us.” He said, quietly, for lack of anything else to say. “If there’s nothing else, maybe we should get going.” He shifted, considering the idea of getting up and leaving. His body felt oddly heavy, as if the healer’s words had weighed his limbs down with stone.

“Don’t be hasty, now, I still have some advice to offer.” Marla said, and he looked up at her. “If, by some chance, you find a way to remove this binding, you should bind the limb again with something else straight away.”

He blinked, taken-aback. “What? _Why?_ ” He asked, straightening up to stare at her. “It’s the binding that’s the problem, so _why_ -“

“It’s not something well-understood,” The Healer interrupted, giving him a quelling glance. “But if you remove a tourniquet from a near-dead limb, it seems to shock the body in some way – it disturbs the heart, contaminates the organs…I’ve heard of soldiers dying from it. So removing the binding in itself might be dangerous for your friend, at this point. If you have the option, keep the limb bound, but more loosely, and loosen it further every so often. Allow the body to adapt to the damaged limb slowly.”

“We’ll…keep that in mind.” He said, weakly, and shared a dismayed glance with his brother. His worst-case scenario up to now had been just – Rayla losing her hand. But…removing the binding could _kill_ her? That was – he’d never _considered-_

“That’s one reason that it’s kinder to remove the limb, if the blood-deprivation goes on too long.” Marla said, as if he didn’t already have enough unpleasantness to think about. “A dead limb might fall off on its own. But if it doesn’t, you’ll need to remove it yourself, or it’ll poison the body.” She hesitated. “Are you staying in Verdorn, boys? If your friend needs it – will you be able to bring her here?”

“…We’re travelling.” Ezran said, in a very small voice.

“We’ll be leaving the town once we’re done here.” Callum admitted, clutching his brother’s hand. “We only came here in the first place to look for a Healer to talk to.”

She sighed at that, unsurprised, and muttered, almost too quietly for him to hear, “I never thought the day would come when I’d have to tell kids how to amputate someone’s hand.”

Callum shifted, Ezran’s fingers clenching around his own. “Um…”

The healer looked at him, directly. “You knew what a tourniquet was. Do you have any medical training?”

“I’ve…been through basic field-healing training.” He answered, tentatively, uncertain if it was a good idea to say so. He thought that most kids generally didn’t learn that sort of thing, so it might be suspicious, but…

She eyed him a little too watchfully, then, but in the end, what she said was “I’m going to tell you how to amputate a limb and do what you can to stop infection. If your – brother? – if he wants to leave now, I’ll understand.”

Callum looked down at him. Ez looked up, plainly unhappy, and a little uncertain. “Ez, you should leave. You don’t need to hear all this stuff.” He said, quietly, as if it were possible to have a private conversation a couple of feet away from a strange healer. Ez opened his mouth, probably to protest, and he cut it off- “I know if we ever have to – you know – you’ll want to be there, but unless that happens, I _really_ don’t think you need to hear all the details. It’s just…medical stuff.”

Even with this justification, Callum would have ordinarily expected Ezran to protest. He didn’t like to be left out of things, and if anyone suggested he was too young for something, he wanted to do it even more. The fact that he _didn’t_ complain, or immediately insist on staying, was a blindingly obvious sign of how upset he was. “…I guess.” He said, eventually, and looked down.

“You can wait outside, or in the other room. Whatever you prefer.” Marla said, voice gentle. “I won’t take long.”

“…I’ll go outside.” Ezran pushed himself out of the chair and back from the table, hefting his bag, and cast an uncertain glance at Callum before he walked for the door. His shoulders hunched and his expression wobbled a little, as if he were close to crying but didn’t want to show it, and he hurried out of the building.

Callum exhaled as the door closed, and let his own shoulders loosen a little with relief. Rayla would find him. And she’d do her best to make him feel better, he was sure. He’d be fine. And now only one of them had to listen to a healer tell him the best way to remove Rayla’s hand.

“Okay. Let’s get this over with.” He said, taking out his sketchbook to find some loose paper in case he needed to take notes, and Marla nodded at him.

The next minutes were thoroughly informative and thoroughly unpleasant. The healer covered pain relief, amputation strategies, treatment and care of the resulting wound, preventing infection…she was direct and no-nonsense about it all, and professed to having first-hand experience with having to take people’s limbs off, so he could at least be sure he was getting good information. But…his hands shook as he took the notes, his throat felt thick with upset, and dread settled as a leaden weight in his stomach.

By the time she finished giving him the overview, Callum felt like he might well be sick if he didn’t get out to get some air soon. The nausea that gripped him was an old, familiar sort – the kind that fell upon him when things were awful, when he couldn’t cope, when he was on the verge of the world whiting out into breathless panic-

He breathed, slowly, to try to quell the early warning-signs, to calm the first frantic whispers of hysteria that prickled in his throat. He was a little too hasty about thanking the Healer, when she seemed about done – he hurried to say “Thanks,” his voice strained, and pushed his chair back from the table to stand as soon as he felt the morbid lesson ending, “If I need to – that’ll help. But I should really be going now – um, if that’s okay.”

The Healer’s eyes as she looked at him were a little too understanding. “Go find your brother and your friend, child.” She said, kindly, and rose painstakingly from her own chair, gripping at the table for support. “I truly hope you won’t need to use what you’ve learned today.”

“…Me too.” He managed, chest feeling a little too-tight, his breath harder to pull from the air. “I – uh – thanks. Again.”

He half-fled for the door, and puffed out an unhappy breath when her voice stopped him near it, saying “Wait”, and he turned back to see her hovering near one of her cupboards, expression a little conflicted.

Callum waited, the air of the room increasingly stifling, as the woman eyed him, huffed out a sigh, and opened the cupboard to retrieve a bottle of thick red fluid and a piece of paper.

“My wife is going to kill me.” She muttered to herself, just about loudly enough for him to hear, as she used some sort of dropper to decant some of the mystery-stuff into another, smaller bottle. Then she crossed the room with her halting stride to press it into his hands. “Lilium,” She declared, without preamble. “It’s a much more potent pain relief than willow bark. Use it sparingly.” She slapped the paper into his hand next. “Dosage instructions. Be warned that this medicine has side effects and will foster addiction if over-used. Overdose can be fatal, so read carefully.”

He stared at her wordlessly for a few seconds, surprised enough to derail the progression of his panic, if only for a little while. “…I-“ he attempted, then cleared his throat. “This is…I mean, I don’t have money?”

“I’m aware.” She said, and harrumphed, closing his fingers over the bottle. “Which is why my wife is going to kill me, for giving you that much lilium for free, but – _Paragons blessed,_ boy, I’m sending you off with instructions on how to amputate your friend’s hand. The least I can do is offer better bloody pain relief than _willow bark_.”

His breath hitched strangely at the reminder – _amputate your friend’s hand_ – and his hand shook a little as he took the bottle and gripped it a bit more tightly than was probably warranted. “…Thank you.” He said, a little hollowly, and couldn’t quite manage to speak the words that came to mind: _thanks, because unfortunately, I think we might need this._

She smiled wryly at him. “Get gone with you, child. And good luck.”

Callum dipped his head, a shallow sort of acknowledgement, and finally – _finally_ – slipped out of the door – out of the stifling room, of the space with too many unpleasant truths and too little air-

He shut the door, pulse thin and thready in his throat, and closed his eyes for a second to try to gather his composure. Then he opened them again, stepped away, and set off down the northward streets, trusting Rayla and Ez to find him. His fingers trembled at his side and he gulped the open air a little too desperately, footsteps strangely loud on the cobbled path.

“Going somewhere without us, are you?” Rayla inquired from behind him, and he didn’t even jump, having sort of expected her to materialise out of nowhere. He looked over at her and forced a smile, something which became easier when he saw Ez trailing at her side with his hand in hers.

“Just…north-ward.” He said, and hoped his voice didn’t sound as strained as it felt. “The Healer said – there’s willow trees up the river, north of town.” She paused, fixing him with a strange look, and he added “I knew you’d find me?”

She stepped closer, Ez following her, and scrutinised him. “…Something the matter?” She asked, voice quieting, and she ran her eyes over him seriously. “You look a bit peaky.”

He bit back his first response, which would have been a snappish _I’m fine,_ and didn’t even consider voicing his true thought, which was _of course something’s the matter, I just sat there for ten minutes while someone told me how to cut your hand off._ In the end, he only said “It was just kind of…a not-nice talk.” His body felt strange and shaky. His pulse was too fast, and it was all he could do to keep his breath from racing away with it.

Ezran stared up at him in that perceptive way of his, and…well, he’d lived with Callum for long enough to recognise the signs of when stress and anxiety were conspiring to overwhelm him. He tilted his head, and before Rayla could say anything, said “I think we should sit down for a little bit.”

Rayla blinked, and looked down at him. “…We should, should we?” She asked, a little bemused. “You _know_ we have a good way still to walk today.”

“Right. So we should sit down and make sure we’re all good to do that walking.” Ezran said, firm and determinedly cheerful, and led both of them over to a low stone wall on the edge of an attractive flower-bed, planting himself and his bag there. “C’mon Callum, sit down and…you can show us whatever you’ve got in your hand?”

“…yeah, okay.” He said, a little numbly, and sat down next to his brother. He wordlessly handed over the little bottle of lilium, and the dosage instructions on the bit of paper, and henceforth abandoned any pretence of doing anything except trying to get his breathing under control. He closed his eyes and trembled a little, distantly aware of Rayla’s somewhat-alarmed questioning, of Ezran offering her some kind of reassurance, of the background noise of their conversation while he breathed…

It wasn’t an outright panic, at least. It hadn’t gone that far. But he needed a few minutes, even so, to pull himself together, to quell the shaking in his breath and body, to remember the gentle words of his mother from back when she was still alive to talk him through times like this.

He remembered a flag flying too-low, remembered memorial flames in the streets, and felt the pain of her absence more keenly than ever. She’d know what to say. She’d know what to do. She’d know what to tell him about his increasing certainty that they’d fail, that there was nothing to be done about Rayla’s binding, that – that he’d have to _use_ what he’d learned today-

His breath shuddered, and he wiped a hand over his face, rubbing at his eyes and pressing briefly at the bridge of his nose. There was a headache brewing behind his brow, and whenever he thought back to the Healer’s words, his breath stuttered all over again. He didn’t want to do it. He didn’t want it to happen. Mercy and Justice, he _didn’t want it to happen._

But sometimes, all the wanting in the world wouldn’t change the way it was.

He exhaled, slowly, and pulled himself out of his daze, raised his eyes to look at Rayla. “Let’s go.” He said, softly. “We’ve got a way left to go today, right? And we’ve got to find your trees.”

She eyed him, plainly concerned, and then snorted. “Well, they’re hardly _my_ trees.” She said, dryly, and stood. Offered him a hand. “But you’re right. We’ve not got much time.”

Callum flinched, a little, on his way to clasping his fingers in hers. She pulled him to his feet, and he hoped she hadn’t noticed him reacting to her words: _we’ve not got much time._ His eyes were pulled, inexorably, to the dark spectacle of her bound hand, and he felt the tension settling in his shoulders.

 _We’ve not got much time,_ he thought, grimly, and turned to start walking again.

Thoughts dark and heart wavering, he followed Rayla out of Verdorn and back into the wilderness.

 

 

\---

 

 

They arrived at the capital late in the afternoon, when the sun was falling, bleeding pinks and reds into the clouds. General Amaya did not stop to eat or drink; she only handed her horse off to the stablemasters, dispensed orders to the diminished unit that had come with her, and then headed off through the city.

Gren, as always, followed in her wake.

General Amaya faced the world with unshaking, irrepressible force of will. When the path was fraught, it only made her march harder. But tonight…her footsteps were oddly slow. Dragging, almost. As if the destination they brought her to was daunting enough to challenge even _her_ willpower. He couldn’t blame her. He didn’t need to ask where she was going. He knew.

In the Valley of Graves, the memorial flames burned on, heedless of Lord Viren’s edict. The Acolytes had kept them alight these days, no matter that the King had been cremated barely hours past his death, as if in defiance of the shockingly premature lighting of the pyre. He could see Opeli’s hand in that.

_When a monarch of Katolis dies, they will be mourned for seven sunsets._

Gren rather thought Opeli would sooner die than allow those flames to go out so much as a _second_ earlier than they ought.

General Amaya lingered at the grave of King Harrow for several minutes, head bowed and eyes hooded, and didn’t say a word. Gren stood beside her and took the time to pay his own respects, remembering with regret the King as he was in life. He’d been a good ruler. Principled and just. Gren had seen too much of the high council meetings to call him perfect, but…he’d been a good King, and a good man. The world was darker for his loss.

Even so…his death had been the lesser tragedy here. Gren waited, chest thick with sorrow, for his General to turn where he knew she would. And, inevitably, she did: she left the grave of Harrow to approach the grave of Queen Sarai, her footsteps weighted by obvious turmoil.

She lit a candle and fell before the statue, weeping.

Gren’s throat tightened, pity and grief gripping at his own heart, and lit a candle of his own. The Princes had no graves, not yet. General Amaya had ordered them to wait until the discovery of their bodies or the death of their murderess; whichever came first. So, for now…this was all they had. The grave of the mother whose sons they’d lost to Xadia’s malice, and memorial flames lit three-by-three across the kingdom. By Opeli’s order, every town, every village, every port in Katolis had lit the flames – _three-by-three,_ an unprecedented pattern for an unprecedented tragedy. The royal family was dead, and the whole kingdom mourned.

General Amaya wept silently, but her shoulders shook hard enough that her pauldrons rattled at her armour, a metallic scrape and clatter that rang out strangely in the echoing valley. Gren breathed as his eyes prickled, and tried very hard to keep his own composure. He’d always been an empathetic person, and the tears of other people had a way of pulling at his own. He’d hoped to never see someone he cared about beset by this sort of grief, but the world was not so kind as that. He breathed, and stayed where he belonged, quiet by her side.

After a while, the General fell into a grim, exhausted stillness, and raised her hands to speak to the grave. Gren tried not to watch, to look straight ahead and allow her privacy in her grief, but it was difficult. He’d been thoroughly trained to pay attention to people signing, and in particular _General Amaya_ signing, and the motions drew his eyes unerringly. Here and there, he caught words, sentences, scraps of a grieving woman’s grief and shame.

 _“I couldn’t protect them,”_ she said, and _“I wasn’t there to stop it”,_ and _“they’re gone”…_ and, over and over and over again: _“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”_

His eyes stung and his breath wavered, but he remained.

Eventually, when the candle-flames were burning low, Amaya drew back from the grave and dried her face on her hands. He looked over at her, eyes drawn by the quiet resolution that had arisen in her, and watched as she offered a last solemn vow to the grave: _“I couldn’t protect your boys. But I will see justice served for them. I swear it.”_

He’d known her intentions, of course. But there was a terrible weight in vows offered to a grave. He shivered, feeling a tingle of apprehension run down his spine, and not knowing why.

She stood, and addressed her words to him, now: “Let’s return to the castle,” She said, grim determination settling into the lines of her face, the set of her armoured shoulders. The light of the mourning-flames glittered on her shield. “It’s time I spoke with Lord Viren.”

He bowed his head in acknowledgement, and followed her back through the valley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long notes this time! There’s a lot going on this chapter.
> 
>  **Timeline:** Takes place 18.05, Day 8. Subtract two days for how long the kids have been travelling. Kids are ascending in altitude, and are currently at about 1200m above sea level. They’ll ascend another 50ish before the end of the day.
> 
> On this day: kids arrive at Verdorn and talk to several people, Corvus sends an important message, Amaya arrives in Katolis.
> 
>  **Chapter/general notes:** I finished chapter 9 yesterday so could finally update today. I think 8 is one of my faves so far, I quite like it. I drew from personal experience for Callum’s whole ‘look at those mountain silhouettes, I have to walk to those’ moment. It’s really a very strange, daunting experience.
> 
> Anyway ch9 is absolutely ridiculous, longest chapter yet. It’s 22k. So that’s why it took me longer than expected. I have about 12k of ch10 written so it’ll likely be a while until that one is done, especially since it contains some Very Significant Things. I’m not sure how long it wants to be, yet. The Rayla’s-hand situation will be coming to a head soon. Total word count of piaj is now at about 190k ish. 
> 
> Now: content notes!
> 
>  **Medical details:** The blister on Rayla’s finger is an arterial insufficiency ulcer. You see these in people with chronic ischemia. They generally form on ischemic digits, like toes and fingers, and once formed don’t really heal, because the ischemic limb doesn’t have enough metabolic function intact to perform normal healing processes. They frequently get infected, and in many cases jumpstart the process of tissue necrosis and loss of digits. It is rather a bad sign. Also, the leaking of tissue fluid etc into the tissues of the aggravated area around the binding? Yeah, that’s also not good. Stay tuned for next chapter to see how that goes.
> 
> The Healer mentions the risk of death if the binding is removed too quickly. This refers to reperfusion injury, which as I’ve mentioned I have decided to handwave as basically not an issue for elves. They do still experience negative effects from reperfusion, but it doesn’t reach the life-threatening severity it might in a human. Still, the Healer’s advice is still good for helping minimise the damage that reperfusion will cause.
> 
>  **Psychological details:** I’m writing Callum as prone to anxiety when stressed. When all is well in his life, his anxiety probably doesn’t trouble him too much, but it can come out in full force when he’s struggling with something.
> 
> -
> 
>  **Worldbuilding:** there’s a whole lot of this this chapter! Next chapter too. Feel free to skip it – if you need to read this stuff to understand the story then I’m not doing my job right. But reading this will allow you to understand more nuance in the story. 
> 
> My worldbuilding was too long for ao3 endnotes, so this is the tiny edition. If you want more detail, [click this link](https://docs.google.com/document/d/140b5PJaSrwHfdGw6vlV0cSzOr-5dXHnz3liSurDYQXw/edit?usp=sharing) to go to a google doc which has the full-size notes.
> 
> This section doesn't include the Healer/doctor/medic stuff because of space constraint.
> 
>  **Lilium:** A potent analgesic made from the pollen of a very dangerous flower, the marsh-lotus, which is native to Evenere.
> 
>  **Crows:** in piaj, crows are mildly magical creatures with an innate talent for being able to find places or people. There are ways of breeding them and training them to be able to find specific people, no matter their location, but this is difficult and time-consuming to do.
> 
>  **On flags:** In the real world, flying a flag at half-staff/half-mast is a tradition that originated in the 17th century. Allegedly, it represents making room at the top of the mast or flagpole for the invisible flag of death. The length of time a flag is flown low varies depending on country, type of disaster, or who died.
> 
>  **On religion:** Humans mainly worship Paragons, legendary figures that champion a particular trait or virtue. This religion is therefore basically a pantheon from which most citizens pick and choose the Paragons they venerate. Paragon worship is highly pervasive, and influences many aspects of human culture, governance, and society. There are variable ways to interpret the main tenets of the religion.
> 
> I have done so, so very much worldbuilding on Paragonism, but in the interests of making the ANs less ridiculous, I’ll disseminate it where it’s most relevant. Next chapter I get to talk about a religious-judicial role associated with Lady Justice. The chapter after that I probably get to talk about what the places of worship look like. Maybe someday I’ll get to talk about the social and historical context associated with the development of Paragonism over time. It’s all very exciting.


	9. Approaching the Belt ix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the consequences of Callum’s procrastination catch up with him, and Rayla makes use of some potent painkillers. Back in Katolis: Opeli makes General Amaya an offer, and Lord Viren visits his prisoner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content warnings:** animal death, descriptions of preparation of meat, discussions of meat ethics. Also, medicinal drug use, amputation mentions, some gross wound descriptions, and Viren.
> 
> Edits: 27/11/19, minor stylistic edits, accommodation for s3 information. Mild spoilers for s3e8 and 9. And uh. Please see end notes for more details on these edits, because frankly I astonished myself.

Viren lingered watchfully at the foot of the stairwell, but only for long enough to see it click back into place. With General Amaya almost literally on the warpath, he couldn’t be taking any chances with the security of his workshop…but he was so very, very ready to sit quietly for a while away from prying eyes. His meeting with the General, needless to say, had not gone well.

With a sigh, he plodded tiredly over to a chair by one of the workbenches, and half-collapsed into it. He eased back against the backrest, raising a hand to rub at his temples, where a headache had been in residence for several days now.

The Crown of Towers was growing heavy on his brow, even after less than a week of sitting there. It wasn’t the best of signs. If not for her unfortunate state of mind, he might have been tempted to offer the damned thing to General Amaya, but there would be no soothing her or directing her rage to productive concerns until that Moonshadow thief was dealt with, and he supposed he had to deal with that. His machinations had rather bitten him in the backside, there – he should have thought of what the princes’ deaths, or even the mistaken assumption of them, would have done to her, but he hadn’t. Now he had no egg, his children were gone from the capital in pursuit of it, and the Standing Battalion stood headless in its hour of greatest need. It would be enough to drive a lesser man to drink.

The Kingdom was vulnerable. So horribly, sickeningly vulnerable. And he, somehow, had to guard it against the legions amassing at its border. It was his job now. _His_ responsibility – his _duty._ And, though he didn’t know how, he had to fulfil it. Paragons, but he’d never anticipated the Crown would rest so heavy.

He considered, for several moments, admitting to Amaya that he had reason to believe her nephews might be working with the Moonshadow assassin. That they might, depending on the extent of the elf’s mercy, still be alive. He thought about it, fingers lingering near the gleaming line of the crown on his head, and hummed lowly as he thought.

Would there be any benefit to it, really? Would it be worth the aggression he’d likely encounter for hiding information like this?

…No. No, it would not be advantageous in the least. He had no guarantee himself that the princes remained alive, after all. Moonshadow elves were infamous for their ruthlessness, and he had no reason to expect this one to spare the boys once she’d taken the egg from them. Really, it almost served the elder prince right – he’d meddled in things he hadn’t understood, and might well have paid the price for it. It seemed nearly fitting for the boy to die by the hand of the elf he’d trusted not to turn on him; just as if he’d held a viper close to his chest and expected it not to bite.

Prince Ezran, though… _that,_ he could almost regret. Now that he’d been crowned Lord Protector, there was little risk of him being toppled by a child king. If Soren failed in his duty, likely the worst scenario Viren would face was being retitled Regent of Katolis, and that would do well enough. So long as he still had the freedom to make the necessary decisions for the kingdom, it would do.

Still, though, in the best-case scenario, there would be no princes left to lay claim to the throne. Katolis _could not_ afford a child-king in these tempestuous times – he could not risk the slightest chance that his rule would be supplanted now. General Amaya he could trust to rule, perhaps; she was powerful and intelligent, and knew well the depths of Xadia’s evil. But a naïve child? Particularly a boy who was every inch the son of Harrow and Sarai, with stubborn idealism brimming in every drop of his blood?

No, he could not risk that. No matter how he regretted it, he could not risk it. That was the sort of decision a firm ruler had to make.

Still. He hoped that the elf had followed her nature, and turned on the boys. Dispatched them, so that Soren wouldn’t have to. He loved his son enough to hope he could be spared the killing of children.

Viren closed his eyes and leaned back. The low light in the workshop was a balm on his headache, but darkness was even better. He had hard times ahead of him, he knew. The whole kingdom did. General Amaya was on a mission of revenge, and even if he gave her reason to suspect her nephews were alive, she was by now so far gone into rage that he was certain she’d chase that assassin to the ends of the world. He couldn’t trust her to do her duty as General, let alone bear a crown. The rest of the council – well, they were a help, and he could at least delegate to them, but they made no secret of the fact that they’d prefer someone else ruling in his place. Opeli in particular. They weren’t outright obstructing him, perhaps, but they certainly weren’t smoothing the way, either.

Really, it was almost like they _wanted_ the kingdom to fall.

He sat there in silence for a few minutes, listening to nothing but the distant sounds of activity in the castle above, the near-inaudible hum of the light-crystals, and the occasional metallic scrape of his prisoner’s chains in the nearby cell. That last one was a bit too much work to contemplate at the moment, so he steadfastly ignored it. After a while, he opened his eyes and leaned forwards to the table to prepare some ingredients for his most common spells. It wouldn’t do to waste too much time, after all – and besides, he found the preparation quite calming.

It was late enough in the day that his skin was beginning to feel tight and dry again, a familiar weary ache settling into his bones. By morning he’d be desiccated again, and need a little magic to refresh himself. But he would abide well enough for now.

Viren worked in peaceable quiet with the pestle and mortar until he felt somewhat settled again, and had a new batch of bone powder to use. He set it aside in little glass vials, storing them carefully with the rest, and considered what to do. His eyes went, of their own accord, to the archway to the cells.

Well. He _was_ somewhat overdue for a visit of his…guest. Duty had kept him a little too busy to have much time for prisoners.

He considered for several minutes what to say, what mannerisms to project, how to present himself. Then he stood, settling his posture and bearing into an easy, relaxed confidence, and went to fetch some water. The prisoner might disdain food, but he had to be feeling the dehydration by now.

In the end, he strode into the cell with a jug of water and two tankards, running an assessing eye over the cell’s occupant. The elf did more or less the same back at him, though with the addition of his ever-present glare. Really, did he have to insist on looking so very dour all the time? It was growing tedious. “I see you’re looking somewhat worse for wear.” Viren greeted, neutrally, and stood in front of the elf to inspect him. “My apologies for the gap in my visits. Running a kingdom is busier work than I’d anticipated, you see.”

The elf, predictably, said nothing. Only glared up at him. That arm of his was beginning to look truly dire – the whole thing was a dark, almost mottled purple, and there even seemed to be a couple of weeping sores opening on the palm of his hand. Fascinating. Perhaps he should have a Healer take a look, give their opinion of it.

“I elected not to bring food, since it doesn’t seem to interest you, but I haven’t been an entirely terrible host: I’ve brought water.” With his carefully-crafted affect of nonchalance, he poured the water into one tankard and held it out to the elf’s face, politely inquisitive.

Also predictably, the elf turned his face away, face heavy with its perpetual scowl.

Viren held the tankard there for a few more seconds, sighed, then sat down on the cell’s chair to drink it himself. “Your perseverance is admirable, I must say. The dehydration _must_ be telling on you by now, but you still won’t drink.” He watched the elf’s face idly for any reaction, but there was nothing besides that usual watchful antipathy. How to change that, he wondered. “Really, it’s surprising you’re not already dead of it. Dehydration would have killed a human man by now.”

The elf’s lip curled. Ah, perhaps finally some response? “I _am_ already dead.” He rasped, voice dry and scratchy and generally not sounding very healthy at all. Clearly the dehydration _was_ treating him badly, after all.

“Yes, yes. That beloved Moonshadow creed of yours.” Viren sighed tolerantly, considering the prisoner before him. “You consider yourself dead already, so you stubbornly waste away and wait until the dehydration makes it true. I wonder: do all Moonshadow elves have this… _fortitude…_ or is it only you?” He mused aloud, thoughts trickling inexorably onwards to something…interesting. Yes, that was an idea. A way to use his frustration with General Amaya for something productive. The edges of his lips twitched upwards, which the elf didn’t seem to miss. “…Or perhaps, is it only the assassins?”

The prisoner’s eyes narrowed, a little wary, as if he were suspicious of the thought that had put the edge of a smile onto Viren’s face. He said nothing, only wore his stormy expression, as if it were a shield capable of guarding him. How wrong he was.

“Does that extend to the younger assassins, too?” Viren asked, almost conversationally, as if genuinely curious. He clearly wasn’t fooling the elf, though – he’d already tensed a little. “That young assassin girl of yours, for instance.” Oh, _there,_ that was nice. The elf’s entire body had gone still at that one, the expression had frozen on his face – yes, _this_ was where to find a reaction. “Ah, I assume you know who I mean, then? Good. That makes things…simpler.” He smiled then, more widely, making his satisfaction plainly evident. “She’s one of yours, I take it? Another assassin? Is _she_ already dead, too?”

Those words seemed to drag the prisoner forcibly out of his unnatural stillness. His face contorted into a rictus of a snarl, in the space of a second, lips drawing back like an angry dog’s. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes narrowed into furious, burningly-blue slits that half-glowed in the low light. _Inhuman,_ he thought, unbidden, and shrugged off the instinctive shiver of unease that those eyes wanted to prompt in him. He focused on the breadth of the reaction instead, and how excellent a sign it was.

Good. Good. That was _good._ Finally, a proper response. A weak point, perhaps, for Viren to gouge at. “Perhaps you have a harder time applying your philosophy to others, is that it? It’s easy enough to accept the inevitability of your own death…but someone else’s? Yes, I imagine that _would_ be more difficult.” His smile turned sly, just a hair’s breadth short of mocking. “Who is she to you, I wonder? A student? A sister? A daughter?”

His adversary gave only the barest twitch – but that was enough. Viren couldn’t quite draw any conclusions about _specifics_ from that, perhaps, but he could tell something.

“Important to you, certainly.” He concluded, pleased, and watched the elf look even more furious. “More than a mere colleague, at least.” He affected a sad, wistful sigh. “What a shame for you, given it seems your philosophy holds true for her, after all.”

“… _What_ do you mean by that?” Growled out the elf, voice a low snarl, the expression on his face the epitome of murder. If he weren’t half-dead from starvation and dehydration, and chained up besides, Viren might have felt concerned. Instead, he felt nearly elated at provoking a response of this magnitude. A weak spot, indeed!

He schooled his face into surprised realisation. “Oh, of course, you wouldn’t know.” He said, as if this were genuinely news to him. “They say your assassin girl killed Prince Callum and Prince Ezran when she fled the capital, you see.” The dark hand twitched at that, fingers seeming to flex a little. Interesting. “I imagine you must be very proud of her, following in your footsteps, so to speak. Not that it will matter, soon.” Viren watched closely. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard of General Amaya?”

He _had_. That was perfectly obvious from the way his head jerked back, ever-so-slightly, in response to the name. The intelligence did say that General Amaya had earned some notoriety at the Breach. It seemed it was well-founded.

He wanted to get the elf to admit it, though. “It’s hard to tell what you Xadians hear of our forces, I’m sure you understand.” He said, airily, waving a hand as though to dismiss the notion. “I wouldn’t want to bore you with gossip on people you aren’t familiar with, though, so if you don’t know her, _well_ -“

“I have heard of the General Amaya.” The elf’s voice was low and angry as he interrupted – actually interrupted!

Viren eyed him, carefully masking his delight from his features. Oh, what a wonderful vulnerability he’d seized upon, here. “Oh, have you?” He asked, with faux-surprise. “Perhaps you’ll follow along, then. You see – the Princes of Katolis were the esteemed General’s nephews. I understand they were very dear to her.”

The snarl on the elf’s face went oddly fixed and lifeless, then, as if frozen in place. The vivid fury in his eyes slipped away, going blank for a single, motionless second. Then the eyes widened, just slightly, as the meaning of Viren’s words seemed to occur to him.

“She’s rather distraught, you know.” He said, shaking his head sadly. “I met with her earlier today. It seems she’s sworn herself to a mission of revenge. She has decided to personally lead the hunt for that little assassin of yours, and who was I to hold back a woman from her rightful justice? So, I’m sure you begin to see what I mean.”

Slowly, colour was draining from the elf’s already-pale face. His expression, so full of rage before, had slackened into something tight and tense, as if that might hide the depth of his vulnerability from Viren. It didn’t, of course. He could see the fear in his prisoner’s eyes, plain as daylight. It surprised him, how pleased he was to witness it. This elf had been a tough nut to crack – but here, at last, was a point of leverage.

Better press his advantage. “Certainly, if I had a bereaved, enraged General Amaya pursuing me on a quest of personal vengeance, I’d have to consider myself more-or-less _‘already dead’._ ” He mused, watching for the reaction. “So, as I said, it does seem that your Moonshadow philosophy is appropriate for that girl. She’s fleeing alone, without supplies, across a great deal of hostile terrain, with the General’s forces on her heels. I don’t expect she’ll last very long.”

The ‘without supplies’ part wasn’t strictly true, given the reports from the Lodge, but it was a useful lie to tell. Viren watched, satisfied, as the elf’s pallor worsened, as his fingers flexed urgently where they were bound as if desperate to act, to _do something._ He could only imagine what thoughts might be running through the assassin’s head, right now.

He considered mentioning the General’s intentions in more detail, to stir the prisoner a little more, but decided against it. Best hold that back for a later occasion. He had a good thing to work with here; if he was careful, he might be able to get something out of the elf with this. Perhaps if he played his hand correctly, the elf would even volunteer information in exchange for news about his errant assassin girl. He’d have to arrange to have the elf force-fed soon, to prevent him from dying before he reached the end of his use.

What an interesting development this was. Previously, he’d been growing displeased with this prisoner’s lack of utility or response. He’d been considering threats to use that might count as sufficiently terrifying so as to be worse than death. He’d been eyeing his pouch of special coins, speculatively, trying to make time to move that unwieldy mirror to this cell….But this – _this_ seemed useful. _This_ might well be the leverage he’d been searching for.

What, after all, could be a greater strength or a greater weakness than _love_?

“I can tell that the girl’s fate concerns you.” Viren said, in the end, with all the smoothly-feigned sympathy he could muster. “I’ll be sure to keep you informed of the progress of…well. The hunt, I suppose, would be the best thing to call it.”

The elf pressed his lips together so furiously they turned white. The look in his eyes might have been either rage or terror, or even both.

Viren smiled, stood, and took the jug of water with him. “If I receive any word, you’ll be the first to know.” He promised, taking one last look at the pale, near-trembling form of his elven prisoner.

Then, with deliberate nonchalance, he turned and left the cell, ascending the stairs back into the cold light of day.

 

 

\---

 

 

The river winding out of the north of Verdorn was, as Callum had said, thoroughly inundated with signs of civilisation. In only a half-hour of walking, they passed two separate mills and also a house, and at one point spotted a barge laden with lumber heading down-river from the valley. All the while, the sound of the river hissed in her ears, setting her on edge even more than the constant signs of human activity did. She kept her hood up, and tried not to feel too uncomfortable.

In the end, though, the ceaseless ache of her hand was more than enough motivation for her to stay their course.

Not long after finding a third mill, Rayla spotted the willows growing along the river. There were eight, five on the other side of the river, and three more immediately accessible. They were plainly well-used by the human population, because most of the easily-accessible trunk and branches were utterly bare, stripped clean of their bark.

But, she noted, no one seemed to have bothered with the higher branches.

“…Are those the willows?” Callum guessed, tentatively, when she’d been still and staring at the trees for a good minute.

She rolled her eyes. “Nah, I’m just appreciating the scenery.” She said, dryly, and slung her bag from her shoulders. “I just _love_ stopping to stare at trees for no good reason.”

“Uhuh.” Callum snorted, and after a moment followed suit, setting his bag onto the grass. “I guess we’ll be taking a break here, then?”

“ _Whatever_ gave you that idea?” Rayla asked, already approaching the nearest tree with hook-blade in her good hand, scanning it briefly to determine the easiest way to climb it.

“Oh, just a hunch.” He answered, wry, and Ezran giggled at them as he sat to watch.

It was, in a way, kind of demoralising to have to assess this tree for a good climbing strategy. She should have been able to jump into it with barely a thought. It should have been near-effortless, a manoeuvre she’d undertaken so many times that it was all but second nature. But her hand seared at her side, stiff and horribly tender, and she knew that trying to use it to climb would not end well for her.

In the end, she took a few steps back, made a running leap at the tree, and hooked her weapon into a junction between two branches to pull herself up, settling amongst the twigs and leaves. She was lucky that these willows had such low branches, really. A quick flick shifted the hook back into blade-form, and she set to work stripping the bark from the branches.

“Anything we can do to help?” Callum called from ground-level, and she considered it, looking down through the branches.

“Not right now.” She decided, gathering the bark into the crook of her bad arm. “Sit and draw, or something. I’ve got a few trees to get through.”

He seemed perfectly happy to abide by that instruction, and so she spent the next half-hour comprehensively denuding the willow trees of their bark, sticking a piece into her mouth to chew as she worked. By the time she had a large enough supply of the stuff that it would probably be challenging to fit into her bag, the pain was already ebbing a little. Not hugely, maybe, but after a night and day of agony, any alleviation of it was a blessing.

“Right.” She decided, tilting her head to stare at the branches of the third tree. “That should definitely do it.” With that, she dropped the small pile of bark unceremoniously out of the branches, where Ezran happily went to work gathering it up like he had for the other two trees. She considered the soreness of her hand, debating her options, and in the end elected to jump down from the tree. The impact as she landed jolted her hand, as she’d expected – but, while painful, it was…bearable. The bark was already helping.

“I put it all in a pile near your bag.” Ez said, brightly, as he gathered up the last pieces. “Do you want me to help – Bait, _no_ , you shouldn’t eat that-“

“If you can fit some in your bag around the egg, I’ll be grateful.” She said, watching the glow toad’s colour go especially dark and grumpy as he was denied access to the pile. “Otherwise, I’ll manage.”

Callum peered at her as she went to start packing her bag, and said “Are you done, then? Is that enough?”

She snorted, eyes on the very considerable quantity of the stuff she’d harvested. “If it isn’t, I’ll be very concerned.” She said, with a touch of humour. “This much willow bark would last us all weeks, probably, even if we were all chewing some three times a day.”

“….Right. Good.” Callum cleared his throat, closed his sketchbook, and stood up. “Well, if we’re going to be moving soon, I’m just going to go – er – go.” He said, and then went off into the trees, presumably to answer the call of nature.

Less than a minute later, she heard him shriek, and flinched from her bag with a hand darting quickly towards a blade. She heard the undergrowth rustling, and then – Callum returned from the trees, face panicked, pursued by-

She blinked, startled.

-Pursued by, it seemed, an especially angry white goose.

“Help!” He yelped at her, as he broke into the clearing. The goose chased after him, wings mantled and long neck lowered at him as it hissed and flapped at his heels. “It just started – came out of nowhere – _bit me-_ “ he tripped over one of the willows’ roots and then stared up in terror as the feathery menace advanced on him.

“That is a _really grumpy goose,_ wow-“ Ezran said, eyes wide, as he scrambled back. “He’s not trying to hurt you? Or invade your territory? Or steal your food?” he added, a little desperately….to the goose? “You don’t need to drive him away, I swear?”

The goose, unconvinced, lunged forwards and bit Callum on the arm he was attempting to ward it off with. He yelped again, trying unsuccessfully to push it off, and – okay, that was enough. Rayla broke through her bemusement, strode forwards, and grabbed the goose behind its head, wrestling its body under her arms so it couldn’t slap her with its wings.

It honked and shrieked at her, absolutely enraged, as she stood to move it away from Callum.

“He really isn’t listening at all.” Ezran noted, staring. “He _really_ doesn’t like you. Or Callum. Or _me._ ”

She wondered, idly, whether he was enough of a bird expert to tell that the goose was male, or if he was just guessing. “I did get that impression.” Rayla said dryly, weathering the bird’s attempts to wrestle free with equanimity. It was a powerful bird, maybe, but if she couldn’t restrain a _goose_ she’d probably have to die of shame. “I’ve never met a goose I liked.”

“…I mean, they’re usually pretty cranky.” The little prince admitted.

“Hm.” She responded, idly, as she considered the very angry bird flailing ineffectually in her arms. It struggled fruitlessly to free its neck from her hand, and then made a sound interestingly reminiscent of a volcanic gas vent.

“…Thank you for the rescue.” Callum said, with an attempt at dignity, as he pulled himself from the ground and removed a downy white feather from his shirt. “Er. Are you…planning on letting it go?”

She hummed again, eyes narrowed. “Interesting question.” She said, contemplating the size of the bird, the work it would represent, the hour of the day…

In the end, though, it wasn’t like it was every day that potential dinner ran at you shrieking and hissing and attacked one of your human companions. Feathers were a pain, and it was a larger animal than was convenient, since they’d need to stop travelling to cook it, but…they needed food. And geese made good eating.

“Oh.” Callum seemed to realise her intent when she’d been silent for a few seconds. “Er.”

She cast a vaguely irritable glance his way, aware that he _still_ hadn’t spoken to his brother about this, and…really, she’d waited long enough. They’d all waited long enough. Travelling without hunting in this sort of terrain wasn’t sustainable, and it wasn’t smart. She was about out of patience for his recalcitrance.

“I’m going to take this bird away now.” She said to him, flatly. “And you can explain to your brother why I’m doing that.”

With that, she stalked off into the treeline, a large water-bird conducting its last angry moments beneath her arm.

 

\---

 

Once she’d moved a suitable distance from the boys, Rayla found a secluded hollow and pinned the bird against the ground, thankful that the pain-relief provided by the willow bark had made her hand vaguely usable again. The goose hissed and struggled, wings flapping ineffectually against the grass, and she reached back for a blade. Without ceremony, she slit the bird’s throat and held it still for the seconds it took to die, the metallic stench of blood biting into the air.

She closed her eyes for a few seconds to respect the animal’s death, feeling the warmth of its lifeblood on her fingers. It was just a goose, maybe, but it had been a living thing, and it hadn’t wanted to die. She’d hunted before, so this had no particular emotional impact for her, but – it was important to respect the lives you took. Animal or elf or human – all deserved that respect. All were _owed_ it, as price for their deaths.

She felt the pressure of the bind on her hand, exhaled, and opened her eyes. The white feathers were stained with blood, now, dark red seeping into the earth.

She picked the dead bird up by the legs and, with some difficulty, went to hang it in a tree to drain a little. She wiped her hands and her blade on the grass and went out to look for a suitable place to camp.

She hated to stop them so early in the day. She especially hated to stop so close to human settlement. But the goose had been a chance she couldn’t afford to waste, and it would take a long time to cook and prepare, and they _needed_ it. It was risky, but…well, going without food was decidedly not a smart idea in the long run. It would have to do.

Rayla found a decent clearing not too far away, and after inspecting herself for signs of gore, went back to find the boys.

She found them by the river in what looked like an unhappy silence, Ezran folded amongst the roots of a willow with his hands in his bag, Bait sat against his leg. His expression was closed-off and his shoulders were tense. Callum, nearby, had his sketchbook open, but plainly wasn’t actually drawing in it. He kept glancing back at Ezran, uneasy, and it was relatively obvious what had transpired while she was gone. Callum had told him, then, and he wasn’t happy about it.

Rayla lingered in the shadows of the trees for a few seconds longer, watchful, and then approached. “Everything alright?” She asked them, even though the answer was fairly obvious.

Callum looked up at her, blinking, and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Huh? Oh, uh, yeah. All good.” He said unconvincingly, and then gave her a cursory inspection, possibly for blood or feathers, that he’d probably intended to be discreet. “Where’s…um…”

“Somewhere else.” She answered, and let her eyes move between him and Ez for a second. She shook her head. “Get up, I’ve found us somewhere to camp. Best get us over there now.”

That seemed to elicit Ezran’s curiosity enough that he deigned to look over at her. At her impatient gesturing, he reluctantly pulled himself up, removing his hands from his backpack. He wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“Isn’t it kind of early to camp?” Callum inquired after a moment, clasping his sketchbook shut and standing. “…Er. Not that I’m complaining!”

“Preparing that much meat takes a long time.” She told him, without bothering to sugar-coat the words, or to speak quietly to shield the words from Ezran. She wasn’t unsympathetic – she remembered her first hunt – but this was going to be a long journey. She wouldn’t make anything better by tip-toeing around the fact that there was a dead goose in a tree nearby. “It’ll take the rest of the day, probably.”

“…Oh, um. Right.” Callum cleared his throat, eyes moving conspicuously to his brother every other second. “So. Er – is it far? The camp.”

“A couple minutes away, if that.” Rayla watched Ezran lingering by the tree, silent, for a few moments more. Then she approached him. Laid a hand on his shoulder, and offered him a small smile when he looked up. “Come on, Ez.” She said, voice gentler. “Let’s go, alright?”

“…Okay.” He said, quiet, and obediently followed after her, Bait hopping at his heels.

She led them to the clearing she’d picked out, which showed signs of having been used by woodsmen sometime last year, if the decay of the tree stumps was anything to judge by. She set their things down and said “We can wait a while to set up the tent. Today the priority is going to be cooking. We’ll need a lot of firewood. Maybe enough to keep two fires burning for hours.”

“I’ll get the wood.” Ezran said, abruptly, setting his bag down and heading off into the shadow of the trees without looking back at them, glow-toad in pursuit.

Rayla stood beside Callum as they watched him go, quiet. Callum exhaled beside her, troubled. “He’s pretty upset, I think.” He said, softly.

It was on the tip of her tongue to say something sarcastic, like _‘no, really?’,_ or _‘I gathered’._ Instead she nodded, and asked “What did he say?”

“ _Nothing._ ” Callum said, frustration slipping into his voice. “I – you know, I explained how there’s not enough food for us to live on in the mountains unless we hunt, and…well, he’s not dumb, he guessed pretty fast what you were doing with that goose, and then he just…” He waved his hands. “Shut down. Just said ‘ _I get it’,_ and then…” He gestured at the treeline Ezran had slipped into, past which Rayla could hear the sounds of the little prince rustling about in the undergrowth.

“Maybe he’ll be up for talking later.” Rayla murmured, and rested her hand briefly on his shoulder, a quick reassurance. “Until then, probably best to let him process it however he needs to.”

He sighed. “Yeah. I guess.”

She observed him for a few moments, and then nudged him. “Look, I need to prepare that goose.” She said, and he grimaced slightly. “But even if you’re too squeamish for any of the rest of it-“ She exhaled, gritting her teeth a little before she admitted “-I’ll need help with the plucking. It wouldn’t be easy even if I had both hands, but…”

He swallowed, then set his jaw determinedly. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s, um, that’s fine. I’ll help.” He shifted. “I…I’m not exactly used to blood and stuff, though.”

Rayla sighed, a little relieved. “It’s fine. Just do your best.” She stepped across the clearing and cupped her hands around her mouth to call for Ez: “Ezran! Call if you need anything!” He didn’t reply, but he wasn’t so far away that he wouldn’t have heard. Probably. Human hearing probably wasn’t _that_ bad, right? She shrugged, and led Callum through the trees to where she’d hung the goose.

It was draining well, and had left a dark red stain down the trunk of the tree while she was gone. She saw Callum stop at the sight of it, go a little green, and then visibly gather his fortitude and follow her forwards. Rayla retrieved the goose from the tree and sat herself near the roots. Callum followed her lead, seating himself gingerly beside her, staring at the bird with mild trepidation.

“I somehow never thought of how many feathers you need to get off a bird to eat it.” He admitted, looking at it.

“It’s a pain.” Rayla said, with feeling. “I _hate_ plucking birds. Especially when you have to do it in the wild. It’s much easier if you can pour boiling water over it first, but something this size – that’s not something we can really do, out here. So we have to do it the hard way.” She made a face, braced her leg against the goose to keep it in place, and then set about pulling feathers from its back.

“…Is there any special trick to it, or…?” He asked, uncertainly, fingers wavering in the air. After a moment, he made the sensible decision of removing his gloves.

She shrugged. “Try to pull from the root of the feather instead of the fluff?” She offered, and followed her own advice. Soon she was casting bloody feathers aside, beginning a pile to her left. After a few more moments of conspicuous hesitation, Callum moved his hands over to help, and they set at the task together.

They worked quietly, for the most part, pulling feathers and putting them aside. Once, he asked if she was planning to cook the neck (she wasn’t), and another time he inquired about the best way to extract the deeply-rooted flight feathers on the wings. In demonstrating that, she had to brace the wing with her bad hand to pull at the feathers, hissing a little with the soreness of it as she yanked the feather free.

Watching this, Callum mused “I…didn’t actually tell you what the healer said, did I? Or, were you listening?”

Rayla tensed a little, remembering how she’d loitered outside the building close to a window, where the sound filtered around the edges of the glass. Remembering the obvious, painful worry of the boys as they spoke to the healer. “…I was listening.” She admitted, with a half-shrug. “At least until Ez came out.”

“So you heard what she said about keeping your hand circulated?” He inquired, looking down at it. She flexed the fingers in feathers, very slowly, and grimaced at the tight pain it provoked.

“I did.” She admitted. Her hand had been painful enough earlier that the thought of moving it so comprehensively had been awful enough, but the concept of _massaging_ it? Practically unthinkable. The willow bark _had_ helped, but…well, it only went so far. Still… “This is going to hurt,” She sighed, grim, and forced herself to set herself back to work with _both_ hands, this time.

Her hand was too stiff to effectively close its fingers around the vanes of the feathers, so she ended up using it mainly for bracing herself against the animal’s skin, making it somewhat easier to pull the feathers with her other hand. Even so, it _hurt_ to move her hand so much, hurt like pulling at an enormous bruise, and set the searing ache around the binding to worsening. She hissed and flinched at it from time to time, and to her side saw Callum flinch with her.

“…Is the willow bark not helping?” He asked, in a somewhat timid voice, after a while.

“No, it is.” She sighed, voice a little strained as she worked. “This would be way worse if it wasn’t.” He looked almost crestfallen at that, as if dismayed that it wasn’t helping more, and she looked away as her gut twisted.

It was…nice, she supposed, that he and Ez cared so much. That Callum was sitting here so aware of her pain that he winced when she did, and was unhappy when the willow-bark didn’t prove powerful enough, and had gone to so much effort to try to find some way to help her. But, at the same time, it was a little galling. Not just because the whole thing smacked of weakness, but also – also, she hated to see what the worry was doing to the boys.

She _knew_ they wouldn’t find anything to save her hand. They were heading off into the mountains, now, and wouldn’t see anyone else for probably two weeks or more. Their chances of finding some miraculous magic-breaking thing or healer along the way weren’t even worth considering. _She was going to lose her hand,_ and Callum and Ez still had hope that they could change that, and…and they were just going to be disappointed. They were just going to get hurt.

She thought of having the conversation with them. Thought of how to let them down gently about it all. Thought of how she’d tell them to give up hope, and accept that there was nothing they could do. Then she exhaled, remembering how long Callum had put off his talk with Ezran, remembering what _she_ still hadn’t told them about their father.

In the end, it was just…difficult, to have conversations that you knew would hurt people. Even when it was necessary. Even when there was only so long it could be delayed.

What had that healer said? A couple of days at most until she started losing fingers? It wouldn’t be long, now. Her gut felt oddly tight at the thought of it, nausea clutching at her throat and unhappy tension quivering strangely under her skin as she imagined her hand finally turning black, going still, going _dead-_

She pulled at wing-feathers a little too vigorously in her agitation, and one of the vanes splintered as she pulled it free; the feathers came loose too-quickly and she jolted against her bad hand as she moved, and yelped at the sudden raw pain-

“ _Ow!”_ She dropped the feathers and pulled her hand automatically to her chest, a new kind of pain _stinging_ horribly on her finger.

“What is it?” Callum asked, alarmed, dropping his hands from the bird and leaning over.

She made herself check, holding her hand out to stare at the finger. “…Burst the blister, I think.” She said, finally, looking at the round, virulently-red pit between her first and second knuckles. A little skin was hanging off the side of it, abraded away by her misstep with the feathers. It was just a little wet, sluggishly leaking a clear fluid. The touch of air seared against it. She winced, and gingerly picked bits of feather from her hand. “…I think I’d best go disinfect and wrap this.” She said, distinctly unhappy at the prospect. “Don’t want to get anything in it.”

“No, let me do it.” Callum said, frowning worriedly at her hand. “It won’t be easy for you to wrap something on your own hand. We want to go boil some water to clean it, right? Hopefully Ez has got some firewood by now.” He stood, clearly intending to go off to see, and she twitched.

“I’ll handle the fire stuff.” She said, waving him back down. “You’ve got two good hands, keep working on the feathers. I’ll call you over when I’ve got enough of a fire to boil water.”

He eyed her. “Well, alright.” He said, reluctantly, after a while, and sat back down. “There’s not too much left to do here, anyway.”

She snorted. “Plucking is just the first step. ” She informed him. “Once that’s done I’ve got to gut it and hack it up. I’m guessing you’ll not be excited to help with that.”

After a few seconds of looking wide-eyed and slightly ill, he said, valiantly “….I can try.”

Rayla’s lips turned upwards, reluctantly amused. She patted him on the shoulder as she stood. “I’ll call you in a while.” She said, and went off to inspect their camp.

 

\---

 

Callum had mostly finished with the plucking when Rayla called him over. He set the bird down, not sure what else to do with it, and gingerly picked feather-fluff from bloody fingers as he approached the camp. Rayla had one fire going and space set aside for another when he arrived, and had carefully removed their iron pot (full of steaming water) from over the flames.

“Where’s Ez?” he asked, after failing to spot his brother or his brother’s glow-toad in the vicinity.

“Still collecting firewood.” She answered, gesturing at the pile already accumulated a fair distance away from the makeshift firepits. “We’ll need a lot of it. And, well, he still seems to want some time alone.” She passed him the little field-healer’s kit she’d taken from the lodge, as well as a jar of water, and their increasingly-diminutive soap bar. “You’d better wash up if you want to put your ‘field-healing’ to work.”

He huffed, and did as he was told, glancing over her hands as he did so. “How’s the blister?”

“Nasty.” She answered, succinctly, and watched as he cleaned and disinfected his hands and went rooting in what she would probably call a _first-aid kit._ “Would probably be nastier without the willow-bark though, so there’s that.”

She presented her hand when he was ready, and he spent several careful minutes cleaning the blister, wrapping it in a thin strip of bandage, and tying the ends into place. Caring for a wound that small wasn’t exactly a long or involved process, but it was a little nerve-wracking – the thing was clearly intensely sore, and she hissed with pain at the disinfectant in particular, but…well, he did his job, and the blister was cleaned and wrapped, so he supposed that was something.

“First time I’ve used that field-healing training for anything.” He commented, wry, and started packing the things back away.

Rayla planted a piece of willow-bark into her mouth and started chewing. “Relatively nice for a first injury to do. Just a little blister.” She said, amused, words indistinct and a little slurred around the chunk of bark, and then even more so as she continued. “How’s the bird?” It sounded more like _howsshebrd,_ but he could understand her well enough, given the context.

“Plucking’s basically done now, I think?” There were still bits of feather-vane stuck in the skin all over that he’d probably need _pliers_ to remove, but given the lack of pliers, there wasn’t much he could do about that.

“Gd.” Rayla expressed, still chewing, and stood to return to the forest, presumably to see to the bird. Uncertain of what he was meant to be doing, Callum wavered hesitantly for a minute or two before following.

He caught up to her just as she crouched over the goose, blade in place at the base of its neck. She braced herself, then dropped the weight of her body down through the blade, severing the muscle and bone beneath it with a horrible _crunch._ The sight of it – the abrupt amputation of the goose’s neck – hit him like a sledgehammer, taking all the breath from him. He swayed in place, brought his hands to his mouth, and gagged a few times before he managed to get the sudden and shocking flood of nausea under control, the burn of acid rising horribly in the middle of his chest.

She looked up at him, sympathetic. She visibly moved the willow-bark into her cheek before speaking. “If that nearly made you puke, you _might_ not want to stick around for the disembowelling.” She said, voice a little wry.

He made a sound that sounded like ‘erk’, supressed another gag, and swayed again before hastily retreating back to camp, his pulse feeling fast and thready in his throat.

Callum sat himself down by the still-burning campfire, mind gone blank and limbs strangely shaky, and took in several shuddering breaths of smoky air. Nausea curled with the acid at the back of his tongue, and there was a sick weight in his stomach, and his pulse was weird and his breathing was weird like he was having a panic – but what was there to panic at? It had – it had been gross to see the bird decapitated, maybe, and he had expected to be a bit squeamish, but _why_ , why was he so…so _shaky_ about it? Was it just after-effects from his reaction to what the healer had told him?

He shuddered, mind inexorably recalling the _sound_ of it, the visceral crunch of bone and sinew, and – suddenly, he understood.

Maybe it wasn’t after-effects from what the healer had told him…but it was the same issue, in the end.

Callum sat by the fire and breathed air and wood-smoke, and tried not to think too hard about the commonality between what Rayla had just done and what he, plausibly, might end up needing to do. He tried not to wonder whether – whether the motions of amputating a hand would look the same, would involve that same full-body motion spoken through a blade, whether it would _crunch_ the same visceral, sickening way-

He tried not to think and tried not to wonder, but he did not quite succeed on either count.

A while later, Ezran returned with his latest armful of dead branches, some of them cleanly-enough truncated that they were probably victims of last season’s lumberjacks, and stopped short at the edge of the clearing at the sight of him. Then, a little hesitantly, he approached to put his burden down upon the growing pile. Callum was aware of him wavering, silent, a few metres away – but he was still kind of busy breathing slow and even and trying not to think about certain things, and didn’t speak.

That, apparently, made up whatever was going on in his brother’s mind, and Ez crept slowly up to him. “…Callum?” he asked, tentative, coming to a stop near his shoulder, still-standing. “…Are you okay?”

Callum swallowed, tasting acid, and managed to say “Fine. Completely – yeah, fine.” Under other circumstances, he’d have been glad for Ez breaking his avoidant silence, but he was a little distracted right now.

His brother scrutinised him, evidently unconvinced. “You look kind of sick.” He said, sitting down. Bait hopped up and settled nearby. “And pale. And, um, shaky.” He eyed Callum’s hands, still bare of their gloves, and the subtle tremors they were perpetrating through the fabric of his trousers.

“I’ll be fine.” Callum assured him, probably a little too faintly to be reassuring.

Ezran reached over to put a hand on his arm, fingers closing on his sleeve. He was silent for a few seconds, and then he said “You’re scared.” A statement, spoken softly, but with every indication of certainty. Ez always had been good at reading people’s moods.

He closed his eyes, and exhaled. “Maybe a bit.” He admitted, quiet.

Ez shifted, let the quiet hold for a few seconds, then asked “What’re you scared about? …Did something happen?”

Callum wondered if, at this remove, Rayla could hear a softly-spoken conversation. “…Just, you know,” He curled fingers around his left wrist, in a sort of self-explanatory representation of the binding. “That. And how…” He found the words slipping from his lips, as if they’d been waiting for a chance to escape, “how we’re…running out of time.”

Ezran processed that, then looked down at his feet. “…Oh.” He said, unhappily. His eyes wandered to his bag, sat with the rest of the bags, as if it was of particular relevance to the topic. Callum followed his gaze, but couldn’t see anything that stood out to him – just Ezran’s bag, its sides rounded out by the shape of the egg within. He did, however, notice the tent pack.

He sighed, and straightened. “We’re not doing ourselves any good by sitting around moping though, I guess.” He said, and nodded towards their stuff. “If you can take a break from the firewood for a bit, want to help me set up the tent?”

His eyes lit up. “Can we do the putting-up-the-tent bit?” he asked, eagerly. As of yet, he and Callum hadn’t tried that part without Rayla, given it required at least one of you to know what you were doing. Callum mulled it over, torn between his awareness of his limited experience and the reflexive desire to cheer up his brother.

Eventually, he said “Eh, may as well give it a go.” And they went off to, through a somewhat prolonged period of trial-and-error, get the tent set up alone.

“We’re getting good at this.” Ezran pronounced, with deep satisfaction, when they’d finished and the doors to the tent interior were hanging open. Bait, who seemed to have grown fond of the sheltered space, promptly hopped inside and settled against one sloping wall.

“I guess we are.” Callum agreed, with a half-smile, and took his cloak from his bag to untie it and lay it out. Ezran followed his example, expression open and pleased, and it seemed like he’d forgotten his earlier melancholy – or, at least, had been distracted from it – but then-

“You set the tent up already?” Rayla’s voice came from outside, a little bemused, and he poked his head out to locate her. “And on your own? Not bad.” His eyes, somewhat automatically, went to what she was holding. Which, it seemed, was a wash-cloth full of slabs of meat, bloody and raw and more than a little gross to look at.

Ezran was cheerful when he replied, eyes bright as he turned out of the tent interior to say “It took a few tries! But-“ he stopped as his eyes fell on her, and his expression dimmed. “…But, we did it.” He finished, much more quietly, and watched as she planted some of her bounty into the cooking pot. He sighed, slowly, as if the cheer were escaping him with the breath.

Rayla set the rest of it down beside the fire, and looked over. Her eyes were gentle and understanding as they settled on his brother. “You alright, Ez?” She asked, and Callum looked between them nervously.

“…Yeah.” Ezran said, softly, and withdrew himself from the tent. He hesitated for a second, looking between them and the campfire, and turned away. “…I’m gonna go get some more wood.”

It was a pretty blatant ‘I want to be alone’ signal, but Callum wasn’t so sure it was a good idea to let him go off _again_ rather than…try to talk to him, or something, help him through whatever he was dwelling on. “Ez…”

Rayla didn’t seem to share his compunctions, though; she nodded, and only said “Don’t go too far. And don’t take too long, alright?”

“Okay.” Ezran nodded, very slightly, and returned to the shadows of the trees with his shoulders hunched and tense. Callum watched him go, conflicted, and slowly picked his way across their campsite to where Rayla was crouched by the fire.

“Shouldn’t we be trying to talk to him?” he asked, in an undertone, as if Ez could still hear him.

She considered it, looking across at him with a sort of sombre pensiveness. “He’ll talk to us when he’s ready, I think.” She said, finally, and poured some water out from a waterskin into the iron pot, filling the rest of the space available.

“And if he doesn’t?” Ezran had a tendency to run away and hide when he didn’t want to deal with something. It would be pretty hard for him to avoid them too long on a journey like this, maybe, but…

“Then we find a way to talk to him. But for now…” She hesitated for a moment and shrugged. “He’s _your_ brother, Callum. You’ve known him a lot longer than I have. But I think it won’t hurt to give him more time to think.”

He sighed. “I hope you’re right.” He said, eventually, and watched her work with their dinner. “…Anything I can help with?”

“Well, Callum, I’m glad you asked,” She flashed a grin at him, and passed him some long sticks she’d picked out of the firewood. “Get one of my blades and strip all the bark off those. Make them pointy, so we can stake some meat on them. But before you do that, get the second fire going.”

It was strangely relieving to have been given something to do. He nodded gladly, taking the specified sticks and setting them aside, and went to gather some good tinder from Ezran’s pile.

He set the sparks into the wood and leaves, and watched them catch alight.

 

\---

 

They worked, for the most part, in companionable silence, broken by occasional murmurs and questions and easy answers. Callum sharpened up the stakes and she piled small cuts of meat onto them like she was making kebabs. The meat in the pot that she was boiling was hissing merrily away, and she felt relatively comfortable leaving Callum to stir it while she went to collect more meat from the carcass.

A goose was a big bird. There was a lot of meat on something that size, enough that they’d be cooking it for hours. Enough that they’d be eating it for likely several days, and it would be a challenge to find a hygienic way to store it all in their bags. She sent Callum to wash the cloths and refill their waterskins at the river at one point, trusting that he wouldn’t mind handling the water for her, and felt her stomach rumble insistently as the smell of cooking meat rose thickly into the air.

Ezran returned several times with armfuls of wood, but didn’t speak beyond mumbling affirmatives when she asked him if he was doing alright. He seemed a little more tense and a little more unhappy every time she asked – so she stopped asking, and left him to it. Bait emerged from the tent to join him after a while, hopping off into the trees.

Eventually, though, the firewood heap was getting excessive, and the afternoon was stretching into early evening, and some of the food would be ready soon. She caught Ezran by the arm as he stood to head off again, saying “That’s enough wood now, Ez. We don’t need any more.”

Callum looked over as his brother lingered uncertainly by the fire. “…Oh.” He said, quietly, as she deprived him of his excuse to go off alone again. “…Okay.”

After several moments of wordless, almost confused lingering, he went to get his bag and withdrew the egg as had become his habit. He sat by the tent instead of by the fire, at a noticeable remove from them and the cooking, and let his eyes slip closed as his hands settled on the eggshell. Bait stared at him for a while, croaking questioningly, and then sat with a disgruntled harrumph when he was ignored.

Rayla exchanged a glance with Callum, shrugged helplessly, and set back to work.

The quiet was more awkward, now, all of them avoiding the obvious issue of Ezran’s upset and the way he was very determinedly not talking about it. The silence did break, from time-to-time – Rayla wasn’t sure if Callum could hear it, but Ez was muttering, very quietly. Quietly enough she couldn’t make out all of the words.

“What do you think?” She heard him say, once, very softly. A good while later, a sigh, and “…you don’t get it either, huh.” Then, a half-minute after: “I know. It’s okay. You can’t help it.”

It sounded, disturbingly, like half of a conversation, and she was a little concerned at who he thought might be contributing the other half.

…He wasn’t talking to the _egg_ , was he?

She cast him concerned, side-long glances as the campfires crackled and the water bubbled and goose-fat hissed as it dripped from the stakes to sizzle in the flames. Finally, when the weight of the silence had grown uncomfortable enough to move her, she spoke. “You talking to someone, Ezran?” She asked, projecting her voice enough to catch his attention. His head rose, startled, the blue of his eyes reflecting the blues of the eggshell.

“Um….no?” he said, unconvincingly, shifting the egg in his lap. “Just…talking to myself.”

Rayla raised an eyebrow. “Was it an interesting conversation?” She asked, tone lightly teasing, and managed to startle a giggle from him. Callum glanced at her, briefly, looking strangely relieved.

“…I guess?” He said, then sighed, looking down at the egg. One hand smoothed over its surface. “I was just…thinking.” The words went quiet and unhappy at the end. His lips turned more firmly downwards, expression somewhere between upset and sullen. Sad, but on-edge as well.

Callum fidgeted beside her, clearly wanting to say something, but just as clearly uncertain of _what._ “…Care to share, Ez?” She asked, as neutrally as possible, and elbowed her companion in an attempt to incite him to _talk,_ already. She shot him a stare she hoped conveyed _‘I could use a little help, here’._

He cleared his throat and finally deigned to lend his voice to the proceedings. “…If you want to talk, Ez, we’re listening.” He said, awkward but sincere, and turned fully to look at his little brother over the metres of distance between them, fingers moving with anxious agitation at the edges of his scarf.

“I _know_ you are.” Ezran said, and – there was an edge of plain frustration in the words. Frustration, almost to the point of sounding like an accusation.

Rayla blinked, brows furrowing lightly, as Callum stiffened at the strange tone. “…What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked, warily.

Ezran exhaled, a quick and frustrated puff of air, and he carefully set the egg down at his side. “It _means_ you’re not exactly subtle, Callum.” Now he _definitely_ sounded a little accusative. He crossed his arms and turned away from them. “I _know_ you want me to talk. I _know!”_ His voice rose a little, thick with stress. “We’re supposed to talk about my problems and then everything will be _great_ again. That’s what you want, right?”

Callum opened his mouth, then let it snap shut again. His face was almost comically nonplussed; he clearly hadn’t expected this response at all. Neither had Rayla, for that matter.

She raised her hands in a conciliatory motion. ”Ez…” She started, tone as soothing as she could make it, but he didn’t give her time to continue. He stood, pale eyes sweeping towards her, his face screwed up.

“I get it!” he snapped, scooping Bait up from next to the egg. The glow-toad offered a somewhat alarmed-sounding croak. “I should talk about – about the animals, and meat, and what’s bothering me and what I’m thinking – you don’t – you don’t need to dance around it. I _know._ ”

Callum shifted, a tension in his shoulders that betrayed a touch of irritation. “Well, that would have been easier if you hadn’t spent half the day avoiding us.” He said, with a bit of an edge. He almost visibly held himself back from saying anything more argumentative. Still, that hadn’t exactly been a helpful comment.

She shot him a quelling look as Ezran exhaled, shoulders hunched and frustration writ in every line of his face.

“I _know,_ Callum.” He huffed, not looking at them. “I always run away from my problems instead of just – talking about them. _I know._ You want me to talk about this. _You_ do too, Rayla. Trust me, I can _tell_.” he shot that comment at her, accompanied by an icy flash of his eyes, and she blinked with surprise.

“…Seems better than sitting on it for the next two months.” She said, eventually, in as neutral a tone as she could manage. It seemed to take some of the wind out of his sails, at least, and he deflated a little.

“I know.” He said, a little quieter, a little more miserable. “I know. But – Rayla, Callum, I don’t – I don’t _know_ what I think, okay? I know how I _feel_ and it’s awful, but I – what am I _meant_ to think? What _can_ I think?” He blinked rapidly, and sat down again, a heavy collapse that made Bait complain. “You’re _right,_ okay? I _know_ we need to eat. We’re all hungry and we’ve got to eat. What is there to talk about?”

Rayla shared a glance with Callum, and she stood with him, crossing the distance to sit beside their youngest companion. “Something being necessary doesn’t mean it’s easy.” She told him, quietly. “You’re allowed to feel unhappy about it. Or…to not know what to think about it.”

Tentatively, Callum reached out to put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I think you’ll probably feel better if you try to talk it through with us, Ez. But…” he hesitated. “You don’t have to.”

“Sure I don’t.” Ezran said, a little woodenly, and shrugged the hand off. His shoulders were tense. “And then you’ll just be making worried eyes at me for days because I wouldn’t talk. _That’ll_ be fun.”

“I can keep my face unworried.” Rayla said staunchly. “Picture of elven stoicism, I am.” He looked across at her, a little confused at the unexpected diversion from whatever he’d expected.

“…Sure?” He said, doubtfully, looking at her as if she’d gone mad. But the tense line of his shoulders had settled a little.

“And if your brother’s face gets too annoying, let me know. I might be able to arrange something.” She added, and Ezran blinked as Callum stared at her. “Like worms in his clothes. Or spiders in his hair. That should keep him distracted.”

Startled momentarily out of his mood, Ezran produced a short, amused huff. “…That would be pretty funny.” He said, quiet, lips twitching just a little at the edges.

Callum glanced at her side-long and grumbled. “Speak for yourself.” He didn’t seem too bothered, though. Perhaps he appreciated the levity, even if it came at his expense.

They sat in slightly-less-tense silence for the better part of a minute until Ezran sighed, heavily. “Look, I get it.” He said, wearily now, and stared down over the top of Bait’s yellow head. “We’re travelling, and we’re gonna be in the mountains, and – and there’s _not_ enough for us to eat if we don’t – don’t-“ He scowled and broke off the sentence. “I _get it._ ” He repeated, quieter, more miserably. “We need to eat. And even if there _are_ enough plants and berries and stuff laying around, it takes too long to find them, and…I get it. I just…” Callum reached out again, and then hesitated, as if he wasn’t sure of its welcome.

Ezran looked out at the camp, at the two fires merrily burning, at the wealth of meat staked over the flames and lacing the air with delicious smells. Then he looked down at his lap, face screwed up.

“Ez…” Callum’s hand hung hesitantly in the air for a few moments longer, and then he let it fall.

“It’s just…hard.” Ezran said, miserably, not looking at them. “It’s not like I never ate meat before, but – I don’t think I’ve ever _met_ an animal that…that I needed to eat. He was _alive,_ and I _felt_ him, and now – now he’s _meat._ ” He sniffed, wiping his nose. “I just…it’s really sad.”

Rayla shared a glance with Callum, wondering briefly at the word _‘felt’,_ before considering the depth of Ezran’s reaction. Callum had been plainly uncomfortable around the dead animal, and reasonably squeamish about the preparation, but it had been a lot milder. More the reaction of a pampered person who’d never had to kill or prepare their own food before. Ezran, as Callum had predicted, was taking it a lot harder.

She mulled over what to say, thoughts turning to life and death, and the things she’d been taught. “I’m an assassin.” She said, slowly, as she considered her words. At the unexpected turn of conversation, Ezran lifted his head a little, and Callum turned towards her blinking. “But, more than that, I’m a _Moonshadow_ assassin. We have…teachings. About what it means to take a life. I don’t know, maybe it’ll help you to hear them.”

Ezran blinked at her, uncertainly, but didn’t say anything to disagree. So…

She cleared her throat, and looked away, heart feeling a little strange. “’Life is precious. Life is valuable. We take it, but we do not take it lightly.’” She quoted, the words falling from her tongue with the ease of practice and the cadence of memory. The last time she’d heard the creed uttered, it had been Runaan who spoke it, even as he bound them all in the assassins’ ritual. She glanced across, and found them both looking at her, attentive, and looked quickly away again. Feeling oddly self-conscious, she added “I mean, I was taught that about killing, you know. Humans. But Moonshadow assassins – we’re taught to respect the life we take. That it’s…special. Precious.”

Ezran made a pensive noise, and he at least seemed a little less upset, if only because he was thinking. “I think it seems pretty weird to respect things by killing them.” He said, but without any particular judgement or disapproval. “But…I don’t know. It’s not like…” he trailed off, troubled, and frowned at his feet. “…One time, I met a banther with her cubs.”

Callum startled. “You _what?_ ” he squawked, looking his brother over as if to inspect him for banther-claw scars. “And you _lived?_ I – _Ezran_ -“

“It was _months_ ago, Callum, and I was fine.” Ez interrupted, rolling his eyes. “Banthers are actually pretty friendly, you know. Anyway…” he shook his head. “That banther? She…um, she’d killed a deer. And brought it for her babies, because they were still too young to hunt, and…” He turned a little green. “It was pretty horrible. Really, um. Bloody. I was…”

Rayla, who’d raised her eyebrows at the first mention of banthers, settled a little to listen.

“She didn’t understand why I was upset.” Ezran said, pensive again. “To her it was just…natural. Normal. She needed to eat, and so did her cubs, and that was just…it. I thought about it for a while, and…it made sense, you know. Banthers don’t eat plants. They get sick if they try. So she _has_ to eat meat. But I never really thought about – about _humans_ needing to eat meat. Or elves, I guess. Because we _can_ eat other things.” He didn’t sound like he was finished, but he fell quiet.

Bait croaked in Ezran’s lap, and the boy glanced down at him, absently patting him on the head. He was quiet for a few seconds, while Rayla watched and Callum’s brow furrowed, both of them waiting for him to continue.

“A lot of animals need to eat meat to live.” Ezran said, quietly, like he was thinking the words through as he spoke them. “And…I didn’t think really about it, but a lot of people need to eat meat to live, too. Because, I mean, it’s not like _everyone_ can live off leaves and berries from forests, right? You’d run out of leaves and berries pretty fast. And if food doesn’t grow where it’s cold…” His brow furrowed. “I guess that means…in winter, you can’t grow food? I don’t know.”

Perhaps it was starting to occur to him how incredibly, uncommonly charmed his life had been, to pass through a decade of winters without ever going hungry, or worrying about food, or even thinking about where it came from. Rayla hadn’t grown up so divorced from the realities of life, but she’d never especially had to worry about hunger before this quest, herself.

Callum shifted, and said “Most people stock up on grains and stuff for the winter, I think, if they can. But you’re right, Ez – there’s places where people can’t really farm much. Mountains, definitely. And in winter, especially, well…” He trailed off.

“…Right.” Ez sighed, and mulled that over, visibly thinking. His features were solemn, and a little sad. “So they need to hunt. Or they starve.” He pursed his lips, as if coming to some unhappy conclusion. “…And that’s us, now.”

Hesitantly, Callum reached out again to lay a hand on his brother’s shoulder. This time, it wasn’t cast away. “…Pretty much.” He agreed, and watched his brother exhale.

“A lot of animals need meat to live.” Ezran repeated, quietly. “And a lot of people do, too. I guess…I never realised that I was lucky, because I could – _not_ , and be fine, but…that’s not how it is for a lot of people. They’re not that lucky. And – now, now… _we’re_ not that lucky either, are we?”

Rayla reached out and squeezed his hand, gently. He looked down at it and sighed.

“Sorry.” He said, finally, voice weary. “For…making such a big fuss about it. I know we need to eat. I get it. I’m not gonna complain.”

She shook her head at him. “It’s fine, Ez.” She said, firmly. “It’s okay to be upset about things. …Even if other people aren’t.”

On his other side, Callum moved the hand on his shoulder to hook around his brother’s side, a loose one-armed hug. “I’m glad you talked about it, Ez.” He said, in a similar sort of tone to Rayla, like he was parroting something he’d been told before. “Better than bottling it all up.”

Ez sniffled a little, and then curled into his brother’s side. “You _always_ bottle things up.” He mumbled, muffled by clothing.

“…I do.” Callum agreed readily, and settled Ezran securely against him. “And it’s dumb of me, and you definitely shouldn’t do it.”

There was a small, tired huff from the smaller prince. Rayla observed them for a few moments, a light smile on her lips, and then quietly turned away to see to the progress of their dinner.

“I’m sorry I waited so long.” Callum said, after a while, his voice remorseful. She couldn’t see what Ezran’s reaction was, but she heard him shifting. “I knew it would bother you, so it was…hard to bring up.”

A sigh. “…It’s okay.” Ezran said, a little sadly, and Rayla couldn’t help but think that he’d likely have taken it a _lot_ better if Callum had had this talk _before_ there was a living animal in the vicinity that they were going to be eating. “I know. You just didn’t want to upset me.”

“…Yeah.” Callum agreed, quiet. “Still. I should have talked about it sooner.”

A huff. “Maybe. But it’s kind of late to worry about that.” The words were a little pointed, carrying an edge of _‘stop talking about this now, please’._ Callum seemed to pick up on it, and didn’t make any further comment.

Instead, he steered himself onto more innocuous topics. “So, that banther…I mean, you’re really lucky you didn’t get hurt, but it must have been cool, right?”

“Aside from all the dead deer blood?” Ezran said, wry. “Yeah, it was. The cubs were really cute. And playful, too.”

“…If you say so.” Callum said, dubiously, and after a moment, went on to coax the details of the encounter out of his brother.

Rayla listened with half an ear, a little intrigued by the younger prince’s obvious affinity with animals, and stirred her blade in the bubbling pot. After a while, the boys shifted closer to the fire, Ezran still visibly conflicted at the sight of their in-progress dinner, but certainly less upset than before. She observed him from the corner of her eye, watchful for signs of distress, but…now, he just seemed tired. Perhaps a little sad.

She let Callum take over the food-tending for a while, and traded off with him for the next half-hour until some of it was ready to eat. She used the lids of their jars as makeshift plates and gingerly piled the food there, passing it around for everyone to eat their fill.

Unseasoned meat was, at least, more flavourful than unseasoned boiled leaves. The stuff that had been staked by the fire and allowed to go crispy was even pleasantly tasty, and a nice change from the meagre rations they’d been on for the last few days. She expected that over the next week or so she’d get profoundly bored of meat again, but that was how life went for travellers.

In any case, there was enough of a wealth of food for them all to eat until they were stuffed, and then still have an enormous quantity left to cook. This, as it happened, was not really a good thing.

“This smelled amazing before,” Callum said, going a little green as he dutifully turned the sticks around and stirred the pot. “But that was _before_ I’d eaten so much.” He made a noise best described as _uurgh._

Rayla was feeling quite nauseous herself – the smell of cooking meat was quite rich, and quite fatty, and neither of those things were very merciful on a thoroughly-filled stomach. Ezran had wisely backed away and gone to sit with egg and Bait in the tent, but given she and Callum were obliged to tend to the cooking process, they had no such reprieve. “Maybe we should have waited to eat.” She sighed, making a face. Whenever she’d helped to cook this amount of meat before, it had been distributed among six very hungry elves, and therefore generally hadn’t lasted long. She’d not quite predicted this particular conundrum.

“We’ll know better next time, I guess.” He reached to the side to take a swig of water from one of the waterskins, making a face. “At least we’ll have stuff to eat for a day or so.”

“If we find some leafy stuff along the way, this should last us two, at least. Three if we’re lucky.” She said, gauging their bounty. “It won’t all fit in the jars. We’ll have to wrap some of it in the wash-cloth, or something.”

He paused for a second, thoughtful. “If we get desperate, I’ve got a pair of socks I’ve not worn yet.” He suggested, offering her the waterskin.

“Ew.” She commented, reflexively, then pushed that response aside in favour of practicality. “….I’ll keep that in mind, I guess.” She felt a twinge of pain from her hand as she took the water from him, and grimaced, transferring the skin to her other hand as she carefully flexed the dark fingers.

Callum didn’t miss the motion, eyes tracking her hand as she tipped her head back to drink. “…How’s the hand doing?” he asked, an increasingly-familiar shadow of worry settling on his features. His fingers fidgeted, anxious, hands still bare of the half-finger gloves. “Is the willow-bark helping?”

She eyed him for a second, and considered lying. Considered pretending to be better off than she was. In the end, though…“It’s helping a lot.” She answered honestly, setting the waterskin aside to inspect her hand. “Only goes so far, though.”

He frowned, sympathetic. “Still hurts?”

“Still hurts.” She confirmed, sighing, and waggled the finger he’d adorned with a narrow dressing of bandage. “Especially this stupid blister.”

He nodded, eyes still heavy on the dark skin. “…Looks pretty nasty around the binding, too.” He said, too-neutrally, as if he were trying very hard not to sound too bothered about it.

The skin around the binding was, indeed, more tender and sore than any other part of the hand, including the finger-blister. She turned it around, grimacing at the almost shiny-looking swell to the flesh constricted by the bind. The skin was starting to look a little weird at the sides of her wrists, too. The colour wasn’t quite right. Or maybe it was just more dull-looking than the rest of it?“…Not looking forward to having to massage this.” She admitted, and reached out to gingerly poke around the flesh. It instantly rebuked her for the trespass, and she winced at the pain.

He winced with her, fingertips twitching unhappily. “…You could take some of the lilium?” He suggested, looking over at the nearest bag as though he would lunge for it the second she implied any sort of agreement.

“Don’t know about that.” She said doubtfully. “I read the dose sheet the healer gave for it. It’s addictive, you know. And _strong._ ”

He paused. “Don’t think I’ve actually read that yet.” He realised, and went to go rummage in the bag for it. He came back with the little bottle of red fluid, oddly blood-like in appearance, and the folded paper with the handwritten information on it. He planted himself nearby while she made a quick round of the cooking meat again.

“Addictive with long-term repeated use.” Callum concluded, after a few minutes of scanning the paper. “Like, a week or more. That’s…I mean, it could be worse?”

“Maybe so.” She conceded, sitting back on her heels. “But I’m meant to be doing my hand massages daily, aren’t I? That seems like ‘repeated use’ to me. No, it’s better to save it, I think.”

“…But maybe for just the first time?” He pressed, plaintively. “Just a few drops, to take the edge off?”

“I’m not interested in becoming a lilium addict, Callum.” She informed him, flatly, and he fell silent. Cast her vaguely forlorn looks, like a kicked puppy, as if she’d wounded him by refusing to take a potent drug before it was absolutely necessary.

She sighed, and turned back to the cooking.

It took around two hours to cook every scrap of meat they could salvage from the goose carcass, by which time the sun was setting and the dark of evening beginning to encroach. Ezran returned to the fireside after a while, shivering, and Callum realised that – away from the two campfires – it was actually getting substantially chillier.

“It’s getting pretty cold, isn’t it?” He commented, frowning, and peered momentarily eastwards, where he knew Dorel and Farel loomed above them, hidden by the canopy of trees. “Is that just because we’re getting higher up, or…?”

“The altitude is definitely part of it.” Rayla said, shrugging. “Places on the edge of mountains like this always get a lot colder once the sun goes down. The rest of it, though…” She looked up at the sky, and frowned. “Weather’s turning, I think.”

He blinked, and looked up as well, trying to see what she’d noticed. It was quite cloudy tonight, maybe?

Ezran made a thoughtful noise as he peered up with them. His hand smoothed over eggshell, and he closed his eyes for a second. “You think it’s going to rain?”

“Yeah, I think so.” She nodded, not looking especially happy about it. “Not heavily, maybe, but I reckon it’ll start in the night, or morning. _That’ll_ be fun.”

“I guess we’ve been lucky to go this long without rain.” Ez said, a little philosophically. “It _is_ spring.”

“Ugh.” Was her only response to that, as she shook her head and continued squashing meat into one of the jars.

He smiled a little, distantly amused. “Don’t like water any more when it’s falling from the sky, huh?”

“Rain makes walking so much more miserable.” She groused, scowling. “…At least we have the tent.”

Callum tried to consider the idea of sleeping in the open through rain, wind, and possibly snow. He winced. “Have I mentioned lately how glad I am you got that tent?”

She snorted. “Not that I can think of. But please, go on.” She invited, lips twitching.

“I am _really glad_ you got our tent.” He confirmed, with feeling. “Imagine if we had to sleep outside up in the mountains. You said there’s going to be snow, right?” Ezran shivered at the very thought, shuffling closer to the right-hand campfire.

“I think I’d _freeze._ ” He said, a little faintly.

Rayla smirked at them. “It wouldn’t have been fun, I’ll say that much. You can’t always count on finding convenient caves to sleep in.”

Ezran looked up, interested. “But there _are_ some caves?” He inquired, with his characteristic curiosity.

She nodded ruefully. “Oh, you bet.” She said, shaking her head. “I saw my fair share during the trip here. Some of them were even empty.”

Callum raised his eyebrows at her. “ _That_ sounds like a story.” He commented. Ezran leaned forwards, clearly intrigued, and even Bait looked up with interest.

Rayla snorted, eyes resting on them for a few moments. Then, obligingly, she commenced a retelling of some of her travels, listing off caves and the things she’d found in them. The list included feather-bats, wolves, and – on one memorable occasion – a large and exceptionally angry bear. She described her group’s escape from said bear with a wistful, almost sad smile on her lips. Callum didn’t quite understand why, at first, but then-

Then, he realised that Rayla was talking about _people._ Not just anonymous, faceless elf assassins – but _people_ , people she knew, people she’d been travelling with for _months_. People with names, and personalities – people she probably _missed._

He wondered, uneasily, what exactly had happened to those people.

Callum listened, a little more sombre, as Rayla regaled them with tales of the variety of caves she’d encountered in Katolis, and quietly helped her with the packing of their food as he did. He pondered the strangeness of empathising with elves who’d come to kill his step-father and brother. Elves who _might_ have-

He clamped ruthlessly down on that thought, breath catching, and forced himself to relax.

 _Don’t think about it,_ he reminded himself, and returned stubbornly to listening.

Eventually, she finished with both the story and the cooking, setting aside their well-packed bags with a sigh. “ _Finally._ ” She said, collapsing backwards onto the loose, woody ground with dramatic relief, hair splaying out around her head. “That took _so_ much longer than I wanted.”

“Well, I guess we can relax now?” He said, shooting her a small smile. She glanced at him from the ground and huffed.

“I suppose it’s not too late yet. You’ve got time to draw, if that’s what you’re getting at.” She agreed, tipping her head back far enough that her horns were just about touching the ground. “Mind you, next time I’m definitely not hunting something that big. Takes too long to deal with.”

He opened his mouth to say something apologetic about not helping more, then bit the words back. He didn’t really want to invite scrutiny of his reaction to the beheading of the goose. For all she knew, he was just squeamish, and that was all it had been. He hummed sympathetically, but didn’t say anything.

In a sort of reflexive motion, he reached for his sketchbook and thumbed the catch open. He was flipping through it before he remembered the latest drawing he’d started, and stared at the half-formed sketch with troubled eyes for a few seconds before turning the page onwards. After today, he wasn’t especially in the mood to dwell any more on Rayla’s hand, but…

He stared at the empty pages, and for a second, all the things he could think of to draw were unhappy. The memorial flames, on their ceremonial stands, or the half-mast flags, or – again – Rayla’s hand. Then he shook his head, and started a half-hearted sketch of Verdorn as he’d first seen it, sprawling at the roots of a mountain range.

Ezran came over to sit next to him almost the instant he realised he was drawing, trotting over hefting the glowing egg the way he’d always hefted Bait in the past. He wondered, for a second, if Bait was feeling grumpy about being supplanted by an unhatched dragon. “You’re drawing the town?” He said, after a second of peering at the page. It was early yet, with only a few lines delineating the mountains and the approximate arrangements of the streets, but Ez had plenty of practice seeing the direction of his drawings.

Callum nodded absently, hand settling into the motions of the sketch even with his heart not really in it. “Yep.” He hoped Ezran wouldn’t mention the hand-drawing – Rayla hadn’t seen it yet, and he wasn’t entirely certain if he wanted her to – and mercifully, he didn’t. His brother did give him a sidelong glance, but kept quiet, settling in to watch.

It was probably overly optimistic of him to expect to conceal a drawing from someone he’d recently been inviting to look at his art, though. Rayla seemed content to lay back on the ground for a while, occasionally flexing her left hand, but did sit up eventually, and did move over to see his sketchbook. She peered at what he was drawing and hummed approvingly before asking “Did you finish doing my weapons, then?”

He glanced at her sidelong and sighed. “Er, yeah.” He agreed, hesitating for a moment as he accepted what was probably inevitable.

She eyed him, clearly picking up on his lacklustre reaction. “Do you…not want to show me?” She guessed, a little dubiously, and tilted her head to peer at him. She didn’t seem especially bothered by the idea – he could probably say _‘I’d rather not’,_ and she’d likely accept it without any problems.

He eyed her for a moment. It was a little embarrassing, maybe, and would offer her potentially uncomfortable insight into the extent of his worry, but… “…No, it’s fine.” He said, resigned, and turned the page back to the completed assortment of weapon-forms. Two pages back, in fact, which she didn’t miss.

“You started another drawing?” She asked, right before she shuffled closer to inspect the finished product of his weapon studies. “That’s nice.” She said, appreciatively, and flicked out one of her blades for comparison, looking between the paper and the subject with interest. It seemed to meet her approval, and she nodded to herself before putting the blade away again. She glanced at him, then back at the book, before asking “So, is it the _new_ drawing you don’t want to show me?”

“I don’t-“ he started, troubled, then shook his head. More to get it over with than anything, he turned the page, and watched her stop short at the picture there: her hand, four-fingered, binding cruelly tight about its wrist, and the dark skin half-shaded. “I was just…” he trailed off, then shrugged, not sure how to explain it, and honestly too morose to try.

Rayla blinked, features solemn. She reached out to the page, just briefly, with the hand he’d drawn; then flexed its fingers and withdrew it before touching the paper. Ezran looked over silently at the two of them, a light frown shading his eyes. He glanced down at the page and then back at the egg again, troubled.

“Kind of a grim thing to draw.” She said, at last. She didn’t sound like she disapproved, or was judging, so that was something.

He averted his eyes. “Yeah, well…it’s kind of been on my mind, you know.”

She sighed, and leaned back. “Yeah. I get it.” She held up the hand in question and carefully moved the fingers: clenching them in a weak, careful fist, then loosening them again. She exhaled, and said “I guess I should get this over with.” Callum whipped his gaze around at her, disproportionately alarmed, and she raised her hands placatingly to clarify “Doing my hand massage, I mean.”

“…Oh, right.” He said, a little embarrassed. He didn’t know whether to be more abashed at how his mind had immediately flown to _‘she means she’s gonna cut her hand off’_ , or at how she’d obviously read him like a book. “…Yeah, that’s, um. Probably a good idea. Are you sure you don’t want some of the lilium?”

“I’m sure.” She said, resolute, and stared at her own hand for a few seconds. Then she exhaled, visibly braced herself, and reached over to press the fingers of one hand against the other.

She was grimacing almost immediately, and then hissing and wincing and biting her lip as she pressed her thumb into the dark skin, and he did his best to look away and _not watch_ because he could feel himself flinching every time she did – but it was kind of hard to ignore. He felt his shoulders hunch, felt himself go tense, and then was utterly unable to refrain from looking back at her when she uttered a strangled, clearly pained noise – She’d tried to touch the skin around the binding, apparently.

He swallowed the first three responses that tried to bubble on his tongue and said, a little desperately, “Are you _sure_ you don’t want to try some of the stronger painkillers? Even, like, a half dose?”

It was somewhat telling that she didn’t immediately shoot the suggestion down. Instead, a little woodenly, she said “It’s too soon.” There was an odd sheen to her skin in the firelight that looked like sweat, like this was approaching the sort of pain that had wrecked her so thoroughly the other day-

“Rayla, if it hurts that much, it’s not too soon.” Ezran spoke, words firm and decisive like a royal decree. “This is why we went and _got_ the stuff, right? So you wouldn’t have to be in pain?”

“It’s _addictive._ ” She grumbled, clearly wavering.

He turned fully towards her. “And we have _tons_ of it. Even if you _do_ get a little bit addicted, we’ve got enough that we could like, wean you off slowly.” He _thought_ that was a thing, wasn’t it? Slowly weaning people off dependence on a drug, by giving them less and less over time? He was fairly sure he’d heard that mentioned somewhere, though whether it was as part of his field-healing or from somewhere else was beyond him.

She shot him a wary look. “I don’t know what lilium withdrawal does. That might not be safe.”

“If it’s anything like lotus withdrawal, it’s probably not too bad.” Ezran said, too-cheerfully. “I met a lotus-eater once. We had a nice talk.” Callum turned to stare at him, incredulous, as his brother added, nonchalant: “He was nice.”

“ _Ezran,_ ” he said, a little helplessly, as Rayla stared confusedly at them.

“Yes, Callum?” His menace of a younger brother asked, face the picture of angelic innocence.

His mouth opened and closed like a fish several times, and then he managed “First the banther and now a – where do you _find_ these things?”

“Exploring the castle, city, and forest, mostly.” Ezran answered, sounding too cheerful for Callum’s liking. “I found the lotus guy by the moat, though.”

He opened his mouth to retort, with little idea of what the words would be, when Rayla interrupted. “ _What_ exactly is a lotus-eater? Or _lotus?_ That’s just a sort of flower, right?”

Ezran shrugged. “Well, yeah, but these are different, I think.” He looked at Callum beseechingly. “I don’t really know much about it. It’s from Evenere, right?”

He nodded, shuffling a little under the curious eyes of Rayla and his brother. “I mean, I learned that much.” He agreed, thinking back on his lessons. “Marsh-pollen is one of Evenere’s main exports, so you _do_ hear about it. Um. From what I know they have these super-dangerous flowers that grow in the swamps, and they turn the pollen into lilium? They sell the dead flowers as drugs, too…but they’re _meant_ to be illegal in Katolis.” He gave his brother a pointed look.

Ezran nodded peaceably. “Yeah, the guy did say that. His dealer got caught by the city guard.”

“…Hence the withdrawal.” Rayla said, dubiously. “And this guy wasn’t, I don’t know, dropping dead, or anything?”

Ez shrugged. “He looked kind of sick, and when I asked if he was okay he said it had been worse before and was getting better. Kind of like the flu. So I guess it’s pretty nasty but not that bad?”

“Ugh.” She expressed, but she did look mollified by the assurance that lilium-withdrawal probably wasn’t a fatal experience.

He eyed her, somewhat hopeful. “So…?”

Rayla looked down at her hands, pressed fingers around the binding again, and grimaced. “… _Ugh._ ” She said again, almost disgustedly. “ _Fine._ ”

At her acquiescence, he procured the bottle and conveyed it to her fast enough that he wasn’t completely aware of doing it, stalling a little as he realised he needed to give her the dosage instructions too. He handed the paper over and watched as she inspected it.

“Huh.” She remarked, upon opening the bottle. A second later she extracted something from the cap that turned out to be a ridiculously, ludicrously tiny spoon. She had to hold its handle gingerly between her fingertips, the skin smeared with the red of the lilium. “Apparently what fits in this is a full dose. I have _no_ idea how I’m meant to figure out what a half dose of _this_ is, though.”

“Aw,” Ezran said as he leaned forwards, instantly enchanted. “That’s so _tiny!_ ”

“…When I read _spoonful,_ I was thinking, like, a teaspoon. One of those really little ones, like you get with the fancy cups at fancy meetings and dinners.” Callum said, peering at it. “This makes more sense. But _wow,_ that means she _really_ gave us a lot of it.”

“No kidding.” Rayla raised her eyebrows at the instructions. “A teaspoon of this would probably kill you.” She checked again. “Yep, would definitely kill you.”

“That spoon is so _cute,_ ” Declared Ezran, whose attention was still plainly occupied with the included utensil, rather than dire portents of excessive dosage.

She raised her eyebrows at him. “You think the _spoon_ is _cute?_ ” She asked, dubiously, and carefully moved her finger to let the droplet of stray lilium fall into the spoon.

“Duh.” He said, as if it were obvious, and she huffed a laugh at him.

“If you say so.” Rayla accepted, and after a second raised the tiny spoon and tipped two tiny red droplets from it into her mouth. She closed it, peered at the spoon, and made a face. “Pass me the pot and the waterskin, will you? I think I should probably wash this. And my hands.”

Ezran set aside the egg to oblige her, passing the requested items eagerly. “Has your hand stopped hurting yet?” he inquired, bright-eyed, and watched as she swished the tiny, tiny spoon around in the water.

She rolled her eyes and smiled. “No, dummy. It takes time for medicine to work, you know.” She said, and passed over the now-clean spoon for his inspection. “Here. Don’t lose it.”

“Ooh.” He said, enchanted, and held it up to his eyes to inspect, looking utterly delighted with it. He was very easily impressed, sometimes.

Callum shared a tolerant, amused glance with Rayla over his brother’s head, and said “It’ll take ten or fifteen minutes to start working, right? From what I read earlier?”

“Something like that,” She agreed, and set the vial aside, carefully capped. “I suppose we’ll find out.”

He observed the sheen of the bloody-red liquid in the vial, and shrugged. “Guess so.” He nodded, and settled his sketchbook onto his lap again. He grimaced at the image of the bound hand on the page, and turned it back over to the incipient Verdorn, lowering his charcoal to define the lines.

The next stretch of time passed in that fashion, filled with the scratch of the charcoal on paper and Ezran cooing over the tiny spoon (and, apparently, telling Bait and the egg about it), and Rayla watching, prodding at her hand every now and then in what was probably an attempt to gauge the progression of the lilium. She borrowed the waterskin and kept it near her side, taking periodic swigs of water as she watched and waited.

Eventually, what was probably at least ten minutes later, she set about massaging her hand again. “ow,” She said, remarkably unbothered, and then again “Ow. Ow. I don’t think it’s properly kicking in yet. Ow.”

He lowered his book and made a face at her. “….Maybe _stop_ and _wait_ a bit, then?” he suggested, a touch sardonically.

“It doesn’t really hurt that much,” She denied, and then somewhat ruined her claim by immediately saying _“Ow”_ again as she pressed her thumb into her palm. Strangely, despite the apparent pain, she was neither flinching nor noticeably grimacing.

Callum eyed her. “…Are you sure about that?”

She pondered the question for a second, then said “Nope.” She volunteered no further information.

A little perplexed, he shared a glance with Ezran before repeating “Then wait a while? It’s probably still working.”

“Sure.” She said, unusually placid, and then shuffled up to sit beside him. She peered at the page and watched him draw in comfortable silence for a good while longer, drawing her knees up and resting her chin atop them. Eventually, when he’d almost fallen into an art-trance and was just starting to properly get into it, she spoke up. “…Do you really remember what the whole town looked like?” She asked, breaking him from his reverie.

He looked up, blinked, and realigned himself with reality. She looked considerably less tense than earlier, though whether that was a product of the lilium or just having time to relax, he didn’t know. “Pretty much.” He agreed, and after a moment, lowered his charcoal to continue drawing. “Especially since I thought I might want to draw it, so I sort of…made sure to look extra carefully.” She made a thoughtful noise at that, but no actual comments, so for a while longer they sat in silence as he drew and she watched and Ezran grew bored with the tiny spoon.

He passed it back over to her, and she moved over to their belongings to stow it in some part of her bag. “Did you like it?” Ezran asked, and she looked up at him, blinking slowly. “Verdorn, I mean. Was it the first human town you’ve been to?” Callum looked up at that, curious, and watched the thoughtfulness spread over her features. In the increasingly low light of evening, her eyes were growing faintly luminous, pupils widening in the dark.

“Mm. Yeah, I guess it’s the first proper human town I’ve been in long enough to look around.” She mused, voice oddly slow and ponderous, and flopped gracelessly back into her seat beside him. “Don’t think the fort counts. Everyone was in…” She seemed to struggle to find the right word for a moment. “…helmets, you know?” She waved expressively towards the top of her head. “Harder to see they’ve not got any horns, that way.”

He stared at her, attention drawn by the strangeness of the cadence of her speech, and something subtly off about her movement and posture. It was…suspiciously off-feeling, and he thought he could probably guess where it was coming from. What she was talking about was sort of interesting, though, so… “And that makes a difference?” He asked, eyes drawn to her own horns as he suddenly recalled the strangeness of them. He’d grown used to seeing them, over the last few days, but…

“Mmyeah.” She agreed, and flopped a hand at her horns again. It was the bad one, but she didn’t seem to notice any pain; he raised an eyebrow. “Looks weird. I think ‘s the first thing I noticed, in that…human-town. Verdorn. No one had any horns. ‘S _weird_.”

Callum eyed her, simultaneously interested in the topic and increasingly aware of the progression of what might well be lilium side-effects. “ _We_ don’t have any horns.” He reminded her, as if it were something that needed pointing out. She looked at the top of his head as if to confirm his words, and nodded solemnly. “Does _that_ seem weird to you, too?”

“’Course it’s weird.” She answered bluntly. “You’re missing a whole....” She waved her hand in the air, vaguely, as she attempted to summon the words. “Whole thing. Part of your face. No, not face – head. Yep.” She pondered this with a slow, languid progression of facial expressions, eyes narrowing pensively at her own thought processes.

“I…guess that makes sense?” He said, slowly, and looked at Ezran to see if he’d noticed Rayla’s increasingly evident…was _inebriation_ the right word? Intoxication, maybe? Those were probably the most medically accurate words, but he could probably think of a few more colloquial things that would fit. In any case, Ezran was staring at her with a sort of puzzled, intrigued fascination, so he’d obviously noticed something as well.

Rayla reached out and patted him reassuringly on the shoulder. “’S’okay, I got over it.” She said comfortingly. “I don’t think you look weird anymore.”

“….That’s good to know?” he attempted, certain that he was probably making a very strange face at her. He peered at her, and tried to remember whether her pupils were normally that large. A quick consult with his memory confirmed that, no, they weren’t. Definitely probably a drug effect, then?

He wondered if it would be rude to ask to check her pulse.

Ezran shuffled. “But it looked weird in the town, though?” He asked, tilting his head as he apparently came to his own conclusions about whatever was going on with her.

She nodded slowly, ponderously. “ _Super_ weird.” She agreed. “Seeing that many people walking around without…with no…without any horns.” She considered this for a long, long while, then said “I suppose…imagine…if you walked into a crowd of people, and none of them had any ears. ‘S like that.” She nodded with an immense sort of gravity, as if she thought she’d said something staggeringly profound.

That was, in fact, a very weird mental image, so he supposed it made a good comparison. “Huh.” He remarked, interested, but in a sort of distant and distracted way. Mostly he was getting increasingly concerned with the obvious alteration of her mental state. A little anxious voice in the back of his head was beginning to say, worriedly, _what if this affects elves differently to humans? Why did we never think of that?_ “…Do me a favour, Rayla?”

She blinked at him placidly. “Sure?”

“Check if your hand still hurts?”

It took much, much longer than it ought to for her to process his words, and then she moved a hand over to poke at the back of her hand. She blinked again. “Huh.” She said, and then poked harder. “It does not.” She then poked around the binding, and said “Ow.” It was a very calm, very unbothered ‘ow’. Eventually, she concluded “Maybe it still hurts a bit.”

“…I think maybe the medicine is working.” Ezran said, bemusedly, as he leaned forwards to see her better from Callum’s side.

Rayla considered that. “That makes sense.” She agreed, and after a lengthy, thoughtful pause, added “I feel…different.”

Callum stared at her, at her strangely relaxed and ponderous expression, at the looseness of her shoulders and the size of her pupils, and flatly informed her “Rayla, you’re higher than the summit of Mount Kalik.”

She stared at him, somewhat uncomprehendingly, as Ezran processed his words and then started giggling helplessly. “I’m what now?” She inquired, politely, with a lightly furrowed brow.

“High.” He repeated, finally conceding to his impulse to reach out and grasp at her wrist, searching for her pulse. She looked down at his hand, tolerantly perplexed, as he settled his fingers into place and felt for the speed of her heart. “High, as in _drugged_. Stoned. Marsh-whacked.” He searched his mind for more drug-related euphemisms, but couldn’t think of any. “High.” He concluded, and felt at her pulse as she made a face at him. It was slow, but regular and strong enough. So…well, that was something.

He reflected that he probably should have got more details from the Healer about the medicine’s _side effects._ Then maybe he’d know if this sort of response was _normal,_ rather than something to be concerned about. Her pulse was okay, though. And she wasn’t, like, passing out, or anything like that…

“I am not _high._ ” She complained at him, face screwed up in a comically confused sort of affront. “ _You’re_ high.”

He raised his eyebrows at her and released her wrist, concern giving way to a glimmer of amusement. “How’d you figure that?” He inquired.

She stared at him, flummoxed. “…Sky mage.” She offered, after a lengthy pause. “You’re all…whooshy. Skies and high-up places. Mountains.” She seemed oddly struck by her own words, and looked away, frowning. “Callum,” She started, profoundly concerned. “…You don’t have any wings.”

Callum shared a glance with Ezran, and smirked a little at her. “I noticed that, thanks.” He said, dryly.

She blinked. “But Sky-mages have wings.” She explained to him, making a sort of flapping motion with both hands, thumbs joined and hands moving as if to evoke the movement of wings. He stifled a laugh. Ezran didn’t bother with such restraint, and giggled again. “The good ones. They’ve got wings. You’re a Sky mage. You should…” Her brow furrowed. “You should have wings. Are you sure you don’t have wings?”

“I don’t have wings, Rayla.” He informed her, patiently, and she looked over his shoulders as if she disbelieved him. This supposition was supported by how she leaned back and scrutinised his back, and even reached out to pat at his shoulder-blades before retreating, comically astonished. Even that didn’t seem to satisfy her, and she pulled dubiously at the sleeves of his jacket, as though convinced it concealed feathers, before she finally accepted it.

“You don’t have wings.” She echoed, eyes wide.

He looked at her, and found it increasingly difficult not to join Ezran in giggling at her. Honestly, where did the _wings_ thing even come from? Was there some sort of sky magic spell that involved flying? Lord, he _hoped_ there was. That would be _awesome._ “I do not, in fact, have wings.” He repeated, in the end, and resolved to ask her about flight-related spells when she was…sober? Was _sober_ the right word? He was having to consider all sorts of unexpected terminology this evening, it seemed.

“ _Why_ don’t you have wings?” She persisted, leaning forwards. Sort of uncomfortably closely, actually, her face was, er – he inched backwards a little to give himself some space, cheeks prickling with heat.

“Maybe it’s a human thing.” He suggested, shooting a glance at his brother in hopes of provoking some sort of support.

Ezran picked up on it, thankfully. “Humans don’t grow wings, Rayla. Even mages.” He agreed. “I think Callum would have noticed.”

She processed that for a second or two, then made a vaguely disgruntled noise. “Maybe so.” She said, eventually, and cast a last narrow-eyed look over Callum’s shoulders before leaning back with a sigh.

For a while, he and Ezran just…looked at her, while she stared vaguely into the fire, at once intensely thoughtful and uncharacteristically relaxed. It was strange to see her like this – particularly after the last few days, which she’d spent tense and sleep-deprived, increasingly bothered by the pain in her hand. “How are you feeling?” Ezran asked, eventually, and she looked over at them. The faint luminosity of her irises only made it more obvious how large her pupils had gone.

“…Different.” She concluded, eventually, and looked down at her hands. She flexed both of them, making fists and releasing, without any sign of pain or discomfort. “Weird. My skin feels weird. Soft? Or tingly. ’s weird.” She reached for her bound hand with her right and squeezed it again, experimentally. “Hm.”

“Doesn’t hurt?” Callum asked, though the answer was fairly obvious.

“Nope.” She poked around the angry, strange-looking skin around her binding more firmly than he thought was wise – he winced on her behalf, even though evidently she wasn’t actually feeling the pain at the moment. “Maybe a little, there. Mostly it’s just tingly.” Her fingertips wandered around the edge of the binding, and then, distractedly – “Itchy.” She proclaimed, and scratched at it.

“Er.” Callum said, a little alarmed. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea to scratch it?”

She stopped. “You think?” She inquired, interested, and looked at him.

“I think it’ll probably just make it hurt worse when the lilium wears off.” He agreed, beginning to realise that the drug’s effects could actually, well, be problematic. It was a good think she was using it _now,_ when there was nothing left to do, rather than when they were travelling or – Mercy forbid – in a town. He thought she’d stand a decent chance of loudly commenting on the hornlessness of random citizens, in this state. “…Maybe just do your hand massage? That’s what you took the stuff for in the first place, right?”

Rayla contemplated that. “You may have a point.” She declared, and set about pressing artlessly at her poor hand. Callum winced, resolving not to look, and determinedly returned to his drawing. He knew, obviously, that the lilium had clearly been effective, but it was still making him cringe to see her handling her bound hand so roughly – his own left hand tingled unpleasantly at the sight, and he shook the fingers out to try to disperse the sensation.

He spent the next while steadfastly avoiding looking at Rayla tending to her hand, which turned out to be something of an error. He saw Ezran shift in his peripheral vision, and then heard him say, alarmed, “Er, _Callum,_ um…! _“_ he looked up at his name, and then more quickly when his brother tugged urgently on his arm.

Callum opened his mouth to ask, then followed Ezran’s nod to Rayla, who…

…Who had, at some point in the last five minutes, stopped massaging her hand and started scratching at the skin on the sides of her wrists. And not just that, but- “ _Rayla!_ ” He exclaimed, dismayed, and shot out his hand to pull hers away before he’d even fully processed what he was looking at. “What were you – oh – _urgh!_ “

She stared at him uncomprehendingly, as if she couldn’t conceive of why he’d felt the need to stop her from _peeling her own skin off,_ Paragons _wept-_ “What?” She asked, as if honestly perplexed, as if she really didn’t see what the problem was with her _scratching around the binding until the skin broke_. Ezran had gone a little green, eyes wide as he leaned to the side to see better, fingers twitching on the surface of the eggshell.

“ _You’re scratching your skin off!”_ He told her, voice high and strident, and turned to his brother as she looked down at her own hand. “Ez, get the field-healer stuff out of my bag, would you? Disinfectant, maybe some bandages…” His brother nodded quickly and set the egg aside immediately, hurrying over to their pile of things with pale-faced haste.

Rayla inspected her wrist, brow furrowed. “It doesn’t hurt.” She told him, earnestly, as Ezran rummaged in Callum’s bag. “Just itches. ’s probably fine.” Her fingers wandered in the direction of the binding again, and he snatched them away.

“It doesn’t _hurt_ because you’re completely, horrifyingly _high,_ Rayla, that’s why it’s not hurting!” He half-shrieked at her, ushering her until she was sat facing towards him, the fire to their side, as he held her bound hand up to inspect the damage. It could be worse, but – it was pretty obvious, now, that there had been sores developing on either side of the binding, and she’d just _gone and opened them-_ “I had _no idea_ the lilium would mess you up this much – oh, thanks, Ez.” He broke off, as his brother returned with the supplies and set them at his side, hovering anxiously nearby.

“I don’t _feel_ messed up.” She complained, as he went for some bandage to wet with the spirits. “I feel fine. _Good_ , even.”

“If you were _fine,_ you wouldn’t be _bleeding._ ” He told her, voice a little too shaky to be firm, and dabbed the bandage against the luridly-red, oozing layer of skin she’d exposed strips of. His fingers felt jittery with nerves as he cleaned up the clear, pink-tinged fluid that the sores were secreting. “ _Paragons wept,_ Rayla, I looked away for literally _five minutes_ and you started _peeling your skin off_.” She didn’t even _flinch_ at the touch of the alcohol on the raw sore, she was so powerfully affected.

She observed him. “You’re upset.” She deduced, blinking slowly.

“ _Yes,_ Rayla, thanks for noticing.” He said, a little sharply, dabbing the edges of the binding with the spirits just to be on the safe side. He reached for the bandages and, gingerly, wrapped a very light layer of them around her wrist. He didn’t want to restrict her blood flow any more, but leaving the sores open to air seemed like a great way to invite infection, so…

Ezran settled by their side as he finished wrapping this new, distinctly worrying wound on Rayla’s hand. “Are the side effects meant to be this strong?” he asked, voice soft and worried. Rayla blinked at him as he spoke, too-placid, and while Callum had found that sort of funny earlier, now it was anything but. No _wonder_ Aunt Amaya had had those talks with them about how ‘ _drugs are bad’_ , and not to eat weird plants people gave them, or weird powders, or…well, drugs in their many varied forms.

“I don’t know.” He said, terse, and set the bandages aside, capping the bottle of spirits carefully.

“The paper said something about that, didn’t it?” Ezran asked. “I just didn’t understand the words.”

Specifically, the dosage instruction sheet had had a very brief sentence dedicated to explaining the drug, which it had described as _a psychoactive analgesic, with soporific and euphoric properties._ He wasn’t exactly sure what ‘psychoactive’ was meant to mean, but in hindsight, figured it had something to do with affecting the mind. He had no idea what _‘soporific’_ meant, and had only ever heard the word ‘ _euphoric’_ in relation to people being exceptionally happy.

“Neither did I, honestly.” He admitted, and looked at Rayla. She looked back, mildly interested, but nothing more. She seemed, in general, exceptionally relaxed. As if she’d spent a day at some hot springs or something, instead of sleep-deprived and in awful pain. He sighed, worried and still uncomfortably on-edge from the shock of seeing what she’d done to her hand, and said “Rayla, just…don’t touch your hand, alright? At least until morning.”

She considered this. “Why?” She inquired.

“Because I think you’ll probably start messing with your bandages if you do, and you shouldn’t do that.” He reached out to adjust one of set bandages to lie more smoothly over her skin, obscuring the binding entirely, and she watched him calmly all the while. “Just leave your hand alone.”

Rayla hummed thoughtfully, then reminded him “I’m meant to be doing my…thing, though. Hand thing.” She paused, thinking, and concluded “Hand massage. You said so. Kind of tricky to…” She waved the newly bandaged hand in the air expressively as she searched for her words, “…do the thing, if I can’t touch my hand.”

Callum eyed her. He considered whether or not she could be trusted to finish what she’d started without bruising her hand, disturbing her bandages, or making something _else_ go wrong. She could probably work with the instructions ‘ _don’t touch the bandages’,_ right?

Just that moment, as if specifically to prove him wrong, Rayla reached over to try to itch under said bandages.

Tired, jittery, and already pre-emptively embarrassed for how he knew this was going to go, Callum reached out and gently caught her by that hand, moving it over and setting it on her knee. “ _No_ touching your hand.” He reminded her, and wavered for several awkward seconds before he moved to take her bound hand instead. He exhaled, cleared his throat, and determinedly _not_ meeting her eyes, said “I’ll…Look, I’ll do it, okay? You just…sit there, and don’t peel any more of your skin off.”

It was testament to how incredibly drugged she was that all she had in response to that was an agreeable sort of noise. After a second, she said “Mmkay,” and nothing else. He chanced a look at her face, and found her looking spectacularly unbothered, and not even vaguely awkward. He instantly felt five times more abashed as a result, and quickly looked down at her hand again.

“I _really_ hope you’re not gonna kill me when you sober up.” He muttered, only sort-of to her, and carefully started drawing his thumbs over the back of her hand. He had no idea how hand massages were meant to work, but he supposed he’d figure it out as he went along. He determinedly ignored the pronounced feeling of heat in his face.

“Mm.” Rayla expressed, just as placidly as before. “You’re _my_ humans. No dying allowed. Wouldn’t like that.”

Ezran made a sound that sounded like ‘aww’ at that. Callum felt his cheeks, somehow, growing warmer. “Let’s hope you still feel that way later.” He sighed, making a face at her fingers. How were you meant to massage _fingers?_ They were just sort of…bony. In the end, he settled for sort of…gently wringing them, and carefully squeezing his own fingertips along them.

“She’s not gonna be mad, Callum.” Ezran told him consolingly, and moved to take Rayla’s other hand to keep her from reaching out for her bandages again. “Maybe a little embarrassed, but I think she’ll mostly be glad you didn’t let her mess up her hand anymore.” Callum made a vague noise of assent, not especially wanting to think about how he was meant to meet her eyes in the morning.

Rayla looked down at him, bemused. “…You talkin’ ‘bout me?” She asked, eventually.

“Yeah.” Ez answered, utterly unashamed, and patted her on the back of the hand. “You’re kind of loopy now, but that’s okay. We’ll take care of you.”

“…Okay?” She offered, a little uncertainly, and then informed Callum “That feels weird, you know. Tingly.” She considered it for a second. “Kind of nice, though.”

Callum’s face burned as his brother snickered. “…That’s nice, Rayla.” He managed, and wondered how long he was meant to do this for. He turned her hand over and pressed his thumbs gently into the palm of her hand.

Thankfully, she offered no further commentary, and about five minutes later he decided he’d done more than enough and set her hand down again. “Alright, absolutely no touching your hand now, okay?” he said to her, and upon looking up…he blinked. “Are you _falling asleep?_ ”

“Mmm, no.” She denied, drowsily, with her eyes fluttering open a little from closed. “Got to…stand watch. No sleeping.” So saying, she yawned, swayed, and then nearly fell over. Callum shifted to hold her up by the shoulder, eyebrows raised.

“Stand watch?” he asked, a touch amused. “You look like you’ll be asleep in five seconds if you try.”

“Not me.” She claimed, while slumping against his side. “I’m a…very professional elf assassin, me. No fallin’ sleep on the job.” Her eyes closed again, and she muttered “Gotta watch for those…town-people. Humans. Town humans. Ambush ‘s inthenight.” With that, she set her head down against his neck, cheek smooshing onto his shoulder. The colour of his face, which had been recovering from the embarrassment of this whole ordeal, promptly reddened again.

He cleared his throat, flustered, and exchanged a glance with his brother. “No one’ll be ambushing us in the night, Rayla.” He said, soothingly, and slung one of her arms around his shoulder to support her as he stood up. She slowly, sleepily got her feet out under her, and stumbled along with him as he led her towards the tent. “Think about it – it’s not like they’ll be able to tell you’re an elf when we’re all in the tent. They’d just think we’re normal human travellers. ”

“Maybe.” She said, doubtfully, as Ezran rushed ahead of them to set out her cloak for her. “Dunno ‘bout that.”

“It’ll be fine.” He assured her, as they drew close to the tent. Bait, who’d been napping within for a good while, opened his eyes and grumbled at them. “You just get some sleep, alright? You need it.”

She opened one eye and squinted at the tent. “…Would be nice to be asleep.” She agreed, vaguely, and allowed him and Ez to manoeuvre her onto her makeshift bedroll. She made a happy sound, burrowed her face into the fur, and then – by all appearances – fell asleep immediately.

Callum retreated quietly with Ezran back to their bags, bemused. “…Well, I guess she won’t have any trouble sleeping tonight, at least.” He said, voice very quiet, and considered the dark of the sky. “Hopefully her head will be back to normal in the morning.”

“That medicine is _really_ strong.” Ez observed, similarly hushed, as together they set about clearing up the various pieces of camp clutter into their respective bags.

“No kidding.” He sighed, eyes on the contents of Rayla’s bag. After a second of consideration, he withdrew a couple pieces of bark from it before closing it up. “It probably won’t be safe for her to take it except in the evenings, if it messes her up that badly.”

Ezran went to pick up the egg, slinging his backpack over one shoulder as he went. “Yeah. At least she’s got the willow-bark, I guess.” His eyes found the two pieces of said substance in his hand. “What’s that for?”

“…I figure she’ll probably want it in the morning.” He mumbled, after a second, a little embarrassed. “I’ll just put it next to her bedroll.”

His brother shot him a thoughtful look. “…Good idea.” He said, and looked towards the tent. “I guess we’re going to bed now, too?”

“I don’t know about you, but I definitely am.” Callum said, ruefully, and with considerable effort dragged the rest of the bags towards the tent. “It’s been a long day.”

Ezran looked down at the egg in his arms as he followed, expression a little strange. Pensive, but still inscrutable. “…Yeah.” He agreed, quietly, and set his bag down in the space between the tent-layers. “I guess it has.” As quietly as possible, so as to avoid disturbing their sleeping companion, they got their things arranged, closed the tent-doors, and laid out their cloaks in the space remaining.

Callum set the two pieces of bark carefully at Rayla’s side, and then laid down to sleep.

 

\---

 

After a day of thoroughly unproductive meetings and even less-productive arguments, Gren found himself trailing after General Amaya as they vacated the war-room, striding along the corridors in search of an exit. “Are we leaving?” He asked her, hurrying forwards a little to make sure she could see his hands, and she glanced towards him.

“Yes.” She answered, plainly weary. “It’s time to get back to the barracks and distribute orders. Then maybe we can finally get some sleep.”

He nodded his acquiescence, more relieved than he cared to admit at the prospect of rest, and followed her lead as she sped up. He followed at her side as she turned the corner, and then – stopped short, just at the same time she did, as they found someone waiting for them.

“Opeli,” he said, startled, just as Amaya shaped the name-sign. They all exchanged the requisite bows and brief pleasantries before the General spoke again. “Did you need something?” She asked, plainly curious, as the priestess straightened before them.

“I wanted to speak with you before you left. I’m glad I managed to catch you.” She said, plainly, tucking her hands into her long sleeves. “I’ve heard of your intentions. You’re going to hunt the Princes’ murderess, is that correct?”

Amaya’s expression, previously open and curious, tightened into a tense grimace. Her words were spoken with sharp, stiff motions that made the pieces of her armour scrape harshly at themselves. “I will find her, and I will bring her to justice for what she has done.” She answered, face resolute. Gren wondered if Opeli could see the depth of the pain in that expression, in the movements of her hands. He doubted it, somehow. He’d had a lot more practice reading the General’s moods than most.

Still, the woman nodded, apparently satisfied. “I thought so. _‘Bring her to Justice’._ Well-said.” She said, and inhaled in the way that people did when they were about to say something important, when they were steeling themselves for something significant. “I came to find you because of that. I have an offer. I’d like to to consecrate you as a Justiciar,” She pronounced, with considerable gravity, and Amaya’s eyes widened with astonishment. “To act as the hand of Lady Justice on your pursuit.”

Gren stared, wide-eyed himself, and shocked enough that it took him a second to look across to wait on Amaya’s reply. She’d quelled her initial reaction enough that she now only looked mildly surprised, rather than outright thrown. Even so, she was wordless for longer than was normal in the face of Opeli’s offer, blinking slowly as she considered it.

After a while, she answered. “I’m…honoured by the offer.” She said, hands moving slow and almost contemplative. “But my mission of justice is a personal one. I would not be suitable as a Justiciar, and even if I were…once my task is complete, I would have to abdicate, and resume my full responsibility as General.”

Opeli inclined her head, and spoke as if Amaya had never mentioned anything about her personal unsuitability. “And if you decided that was necessary, that would be your right.” She said, smoothly. “Alternatively, you could remain a Justiciar, and act in that capacity if you encountered dire injustice during your duties as General.”

Amaya’s lips pursed a little. “You’re aware that I intend to execute this assassin with or without a holy mandate.” She said, watching Opeli closely as Gren relayed her words. “And I am not an especially religious person, in any case.”

“You’d be bringing righteous justice, General.” She answered, shrugging just a little. “Whether or not you’re doing it in Her name, you would be the Hand of Justice, and carrying out Her work. You might as well make it official.”

“And what of the legendary objectivity of the Justiciar?” Amaya asked, clearly unconvinced. Gren watched her with interest as he relayed her words, genuinely curious as to what she’d decide on this. “I was under the impression that a Justiciar who allows personal motivation to cloud their justice is forsworn by the Church.”

Opeli huffed, lips quirking. “If I may be so bold, General…personal motivation or not, if there’s anyone that is going to catch that elf before she can return to Xadia, it will be you. And this crime _needs_ a Justiciar to attend it, desperately. With the closest Justiciar roaming Neolandia, you are by far the best option. It’s not as though worthy and ready-trained candidates are thick on the ground.”

Amaya’s lips pressed into a flat line. “So it’s a matter of needing the Church of Paragons to be seen doing something.”

The priestess’ eyebrows raised. “Did I say that?” She asked, mildly. “No, General. This is a matter of _Justice._ The Pentarchy has not had something so heinous committed within its borders in decades, and setting a Justiciar on the task is – is _necessary._ Anything less would be – it would be a _betrayal,_ do you understand? Five kingdoms are crying out to Lady Justice, General. If a Justiciar doesn’t attend a crime like this, then what are they even _for?_ ” Her voice became more emphatic and impassioned the longer she spoke, and abruptly Gren could _see_ her for the Priestess of Paragons that she was, her demeanour near-brimming with the strength of her faith.

“A few vows won’t make me any better at executing a monster. She will die whether I am a Justiciar or merely a General. It would make no difference.” Amaya said, expression increasingly agitated as she signed.

“It would make _every_ difference.” Opeli refuted, vehement, every ounce of her piety showing in her eyes. “Not to your fighting ability, of course, but – to the _Kingdoms,_ to the boys’ memories-“ She cut off, perhaps warned by some stiffening of the other woman’s frame, and sighed. “…Are you entirely opposed to it, then?” She asked, more quietly, more solemnly. She did genuinely look sad at the thought.

She hesitated before moving her hands again. “Not necessarily opposed, but I have concerns.” As he watched, General Amaya closed her eyes, and puffed out a breath. She looked momentarily troubled as she shook her head, opened her eyes again, and looked back at Katolis’ Lady of Paragons. “A Justiciar must act as Lady Justice would.” She said, sighing, eyes hooded. “They must use the sword, the scales, and the blindfold all. Lady Opeli, I am too close to this to judge as a Justiciar should. _I_ _would use only the sword.”_ Her hands moved emphatically enough there that Gren relayed them with just the stress on the words he ought, a shiver running down his spine at the bald honesty in them.

Amaya wasn’t one to speak of her flaws or failings so plainly. But Opeli…he supposed if you couldn’t be honest to a Priestess of Paragons, you probably had a problem larger than mere flaws and failings.

The Priestess herself watched Amaya for a few seconds, a very slight smile pulling at the corners of her lips. She looked satisfied, perhaps, or even a little impressed. “I appreciate your candour.” She said. “But I think you misjudge yourself. If consecrated to act with the responsibilities of a Justiciar, you _would_ use the scales, and the blindfold too, even if you detested it with every breath. Even if every part of you wanted to use only the sword. You are not the sort of woman who can turn her back on what she is responsible for.”

Amaya huffed, a little startled. “And what would you call me abandoning the Breach to chase a single elf, if not abandonment of my responsibility?” Gren, glancing at her, said the words dryly. It was the first time he’d seen _her_ express the sentiment that she was shirking her duty, though naturally she’d read the accusation on more than one pair of lips already.

“Justice.” Said Opeli, simply. “Justice for an unforgiveable, despicable crime. Justice that will soothe a kingdom of broken hearts, as well as your own. Don’t underestimate the power of this sort of closure, General. You know better.”

The General exhaled, a light frown furrowing her brow. She didn’t respond for a few long seconds, contemplative, and not in a happy way. “I don’t know that I could give the elf mercy, if for some unfathomable reason that was what she deserved.” She said finally.

“You would.” Opeli refuted, with a certainty even Gren didn’t quite have. He’d _seen_ Amaya weep, seen her scream and rage and wail. He’d seen her fingers bloody in the blind fury of her grief, rust beneath her fingernails and vengeance carving out a hollow in her heart. He’d have agreed with Opeli in a heartbeat were she talking to a General whose nephews had not been murdered, but…Amaya was in a great deal of pain. People could change terribly when they were in pain. But, even so... “You’re not a sword, General Amaya. You’re a _shield._ Or do you carry that thing everywhere you go for decoration?” She smiled, gently teasing, and Gren couldn’t do anything but agree with her.

Amaya eyed her narrowly, and said nothing.

“You’re not an instrument of unthinking vengeance, no matter what you seem to think. You would be a worthy Justiciar, and I would be honoured to consecrate you.” She said, with a sort of self-satisfied air that suggested she thought she’d won. “Think on it. You know where to find me when you’ve made a decision.”

With that, she bowed, a clear conclusion to the discussion. Amaya bowed back, a little mechanically, and watched with brows furrowed as the Lady of Paragons walked away down the stone corridor. “That woman is a menace.” She said to Gren, shaking her head disbelievingly. Her fingers twitched for a few seconds between sentences. “…She reminds me of Sarai, sometimes. Just as impossible to argue with.”

He huffed a laugh, surprised, and let his shoulders loosen. He spoke to her in quick, somewhat excited motions: “do you think you’ll do it?” Whatever he thought, and whatever _she_ thought…Justiciars were _special._ He couldn’t quite help the thrill that the thought of Amaya as one of them inspired.

She tilted her head back and forth, a gesture of indecision. “I don’t know, yet. I’ll think about it.” She sighed. “She seems very sure I have my head where it should be. I’m not so convinced.”

Gren considered that, and, a little tentative, answered “Well, she was right about one thing, General, if nothing else.”

Amaya stared at him, plainly questioning.

“You _are_ a shield.” He said. “You always have been.” He hesitated, warring a little with the part of him that was wary of imposing, of overstepping, but…he was her friend. He _knew_ he was. He knew she valued his opinions, even if he still couldn’t quite believe it. “I think she’s right. If it came down to it, and the elf _didn’t_ deserve to die, you’d spare her.”

She frowned at him. “You sound very sure of that.” She seemed almost curious, there, as if she were _listening,_ at least in the metaphorical sense. As if she were honestly considering that he might have a better insight to her actions than she did.

He hesitated again, but forged on. “You’ve suffered a terrible loss, and it has hurt you badly.” He said, cautious. “But you’re still Amaya. And if you swear the Justiciar’s vows, I know you’ll honour them.”

She stared at him for long, silent seconds, until he found it hard to keep still and fidgeted a little, shuffling in place. Then she exhaled, long and heavy, and averted her eyes just a little. “Thank you, Gren.” She said, hands picking their way slowly through the words. “I…am still unsure. But I will seriously consider Opeli’s offer, I think.”

He relaxed, just a little relieved, and nodded to her. Then, mind whirling with thoughts of his favourite childhood stories and the Justiciars that had featured in them, he fell into step beside his General, and followed her out of the castle halls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Timeline:** This chapter takes place on the latter part of 18.05, day 8 since start of canon. Subtract 2 days for time spent travelling. Kids are camped at 1250m above sea level. 
> 
> **Post s3 note: **yeah okay so this chapter? I finished it in June. If you’re reading this after s3, please be aware that everything about drugged Rayla asking Callum if he had wings? I finished this chapter in June. The stuff with Callum wondering if there’s some magic way of flying? June. Edits were made to accommodate information on Skywing wings, and magewings, but the rest...June.****
> 
>  **Chapter notes:** I hope everyone enjoyed ‘High’ Elf Rayla. That whole sequence gave me lots of trouble in the planning stages; it was one of those that I needed to write to figure out the direction of. This chapter is super super long mainly because it had a lot of dialogue-heavy scenes, and dialogue is what really inflates my word counts.
> 
> Note on meat preparation: I have plucked game birds before. It is an absolute pain. 
> 
> Next chapter is Highly Significant. It isn't finished yet, and I’ve had to do some major restructuring. I’m only posting this now because it’s been so long since the last update, and to celebrate the comicon panel and new lore. It might be a while until the next chapter, although I’m still writing every day. Total piaj word count is now up to 230k.
> 
>  **Medical details:** In this chapter, Rayla’s ischemic ulcer pops on her finger. Arterial insufficiency ulcers are described in everything I’ve read as ‘intensely painful’.
> 
> Rayla has scratched open the sores on either side of the binding. They’re worst where the skin is nearly directly over bone. They are also an infection risk, and will hurt horribly once the lilium wears off. 
> 
> Her hand does not have a lot of time left. Expect this situation to come to a head next chapter.
> 
> Again, my worldbuilding is too powerful for ao3 note capacity. So [ here is a link ](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1vvbG-oCKzyubEMY9qBhP82LzaHpQb6BXRFqDkqaLRBI/edit?usp=sharing) to the full worldbuilding notes, in a google doc, and below is a summarised edition.
> 
>  **Justiciars:**  
>  Travelling warriors consecrated to act as judge, jury, and executioner. It takes a lot of training, generally measured in the decades, to become accepted as worthy of the role. The Justiciar swears vows in the name of Lady Justice and thereafter acts as a travelling perpetrator of justice. They are called upon to track, apprehend, judge and sentence heinous criminals who have fled conventional justice, or to navigate exceptionally controversial or incendiary crimes where local officials have difficulty remaining impartial.
> 
> Justiciars generally enjoy a reputation as folk heroes, with many historical Justiciars and their exploits featuring in popular stories and folktales. They are very highly regarded, and very uncommon.
> 
>  **The Marsh-Lotus and Lilium:**  
>  Medical preparations of the pollen of the marsh-lotus are known as ‘lilium’, which is usually found in liquid form. It is very potent, and the most common heavy-duty painkiller in the Pentarchy. In low doses, it’s good as a sleep aid; in high doses, as an anaesthetic for surgery.  
> Recreational preparations of marsh-lotus can be made from any part of the plant. The most common forms are the dried petals of lotus flowers, and a powder composed of pollen and sugar. These are typically eaten; recreational users of lotus-derived products are known as ‘lotus-eaters’.  
> Medical jargon: psychoactive = messes with your state of mind, analgesic = painkiller, soporific = makes you sleepy, euphoria = state of varyingly intense pleasure and happiness.  
>  **Effects of Lilium:**  
>  Someone using lilium will experience intense feelings of relaxation and wellness, which at higher doses can reach euphoria. They will become sleepy, maudlin, and very relaxed. They are very likely to fall asleep with very little warning, especially once they start metabolising the drug. Drug users will be fairly incoherent, suggestible, and poor at impulse control; they’ll also have a hard time experiencing negative emotions or reactions.  
> Less psychoactive side-effects: dry mouth, dilated pupils, slow heartbeat, strange tactile sensations (‘tingling’ and sometimes ‘itching’; painful areas in particular are likely to feel especially itchy), and lethargy.
> 
>  **Idioms:**  
>  The term ‘marsh-whacked’ is human slang meaning ‘high’, as in intoxicated on a recreational substance. It originates from lotus-derived drugs, which are naturally from the marshes of Evenere. The slang is vaguely inspired by real-world slang ‘bush-whacked’, meaning ‘exhausted’.  
> There is also a Xadian slang word for being high, which I’ll certainly get to use soon.


	10. Approaching the Belt x

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rayla's hand is just about out of time, and everyone begins to lose hope.  
> Or…almost everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content warnings:** Pain, wound descriptions, stress, amputation mentions. 
> 
> **Note:** If you have the time and inclination, I _strongly_ recommend rereading a good 3 or more chapters in advance of this one, so that the foreshadowing and subtext is fresh in your mind. This chapter contains something I’ve been building for the entire story thus far.
> 
> Edits: 27/11/19, minor stylistic changes, no s3 edits needed.

In the dark of midnight, a crow arrived at the city barracks. Not just a place-finding crow, either, but one that winged its way down the halls in search of a _person._ Gren saw the crow coming in the movement of soldiers ducking out of the way, in the metallic _fwoosh_ of feathers against someone’s helm, and then – seconds later – the crow landed determinedly on Amaya’s left pauldron. It cawed, and pecked imperiously at her hair.

Amaya lifted a hand, startled, to the inky feathers. The orders she’d been writing were set aside as she took the crow onto her wrist, and in the better lighting, Gren recognised it as Kora. It would be a report from Corvus, then. He tensed a little at the realisation, saw the same tension settle near-imperceptibly into her shoulders, and watched as she loosed the paper from the crow’s leg.

“Close the door.” Amaya ordered him, one-handed, as she walked Kora over to a perch and set her upon it, letter held between two fingers.

Gren bowed his head and rose to obey, cutting off the General’s office from the barracks at large. Clearly, she didn’t want to risk a potential breach of security with this particular report.

When he turned back, she was already unrolling the missive, eyes scanning over Corvus’ concise handwriting. He was watching when she went utterly still – he was watching as, a second later, she stood abruptly, face utterly pale, holding the letter up to the light as if uncertain she’d read it correctly.

“General?” He signed at her, uncertainly, enough into her field of vision that he was sure she’d see it.

Still, she didn’t respond for several moments, eyes scanning the report again and again. The paper fluttered in her grip as her fingers shook.

Slowly, she set the letter down. Raised her hands, and said “Corvus has found the elf’s trail. He has also-“ She stopped, teeth clenched so tightly he could see a muscle jumping in her jaw. She took a deep breath before continuing, fingers oddly clumsy. “He reports that the elf is not alone. There are two additional sets of footprints in the trail, as well as prints of a small animal.”

Gren startled, wide-eyed. “Other elves survived the assassination?”

“…The footprints are…human.” There was a pronounced pause before that last word, as if she’d had to struggle to force her hands to shape it. “Barefoot, at times, so there’s no mistaking it.” She refuted, and he stilled, starting to get an idea of the reason why her hands were shaking, the reason for the awful pallor that had come over her. “One set larger. One set smaller. As if. As if from a child.” She raised a hand to her face, trembling badly enough to abandon signing for the moment, her breaths heavy and agitated.

He found _himself_ feeling a little shaky at that. “A small animal. The…the prince’s glow-toad?” He murmured, aloud, as a terrified sort of hope clutched at his chest, thinking of _two sets of human footprints_ and _a small animal_ and _one set smaller, as if from a child_. Hope, but a sickening and tenuous sort, because – because _what if it were wrong?_ He was abruptly half-overcome with breathless nerves at the mere thought…and if _he_ was feeling that way, what must _she_ be feeling?

He stepped more fully into her field of vision, and raised his hands blatantly enough that she’d see the motion even with her sight mostly obscured. She lowered her hand enough to watch him, looking horribly shaken. “Do you think it might be them? Do you think there’s a chance?”

Her answer was stiff and halting. “I don’t know.” She said, expression horribly drawn. “It would be a particularly vicious coincidence if it _isn’t._ And the animal prints.” She gestured at the letter, and he stepped closer to see a small sketch included, to-scale, of the small animal footprint. “The shape is exactly right.” She stared at it, and he stared at it, and they considered the implications together. He couldn’t begin to imagine how she must be feeling, right now.

Cautiously, he signed a question. “Are you alright, General?”

She looked up at him, expression tight, the epitome of a woman trying very, very hard not to allow herself much hope. “The uncertainty is very trying.” She admitted, horribly tense. She hissed out a frustrated breath and went for fresh paper, sitting back at her table with eyes drifting between the report and the empty page. “Corvus thinks he will catch up with the trail within two or three days. So, I suppose, we will have to wait for more information.” Her brow settled, every second, into a heavier scowl.

“…Will we still set out in pursuit tomorrow?” he inquired.

“Of course. We can’t afford any delay.” She answered, shaking her head a little. “If. If they are alive, and with the assassin, then they are captives. And they must be freed, safely, and the assassin brought to justice.” Her fingers trembled as she forced her mind through the next thoughts, the next conclusions. “If the humans are…unrelated…then they are either traitors, or captives. And they still must be found, and justice served to them or the elf, or both.” She sighed explosively as she spoke the next words, hands almost vicious with the motion. “Opeli was more right than she knew. A situation this complex deserves a Justiciar.”

His hands jerked a little where he’d kept them raised and ready to speak. “You’re going to accept?” he asked, motions tentative.

“Maybe.” Her fingers wavered among words. “Perhaps. I will have to think.”

Looking at her, even uncertain as she was, Gren was fairly sure she’d already made her decision. General Amaya was not a woman to shy from responsibility, or from a job that needed to be done. This constituted both.

Still, he said nothing, and left her to her thoughts as she scrawled out a terse response for Corvus, reading it over her shoulder. A very urgent request for further news or details, and an entreaty to take the utmost caution. She set the crow loose again from the window, her black feathers turning her near-invisible in the night sky.

After a moment, she raised her hands again. “Crows aren’t good night-flyers, damn it. She’ll likely roost until the morning.” She sighed, plainly frustrated.

“Is there anything you’d like me to handle, General?” He asked, eyeing the still-considerable amount of paper on her desk. It was unsurprising, perhaps, that writing orders to sustain the Standing Battalion in her absence would be a lengthy task, but…

Her eyes swept wearily over the papers, and she went to retrieve the quill again, signing her response one-handed. “No, Gren, but thank you. Get some sleep. It will be a busy day tomorrow.” He frowned at her, silently disapproving of her obvious intent to renege on her own sleep, and she rolled her eyes at him. “I’ll sleep when I’m finished.” She informed him, and set nib to paper. A second later, still one-handed, she added “Or when I’m dead,” A cynical sort of smirk lifted one side of her mouth.

Well, it wasn’t exactly anything new, for her. Under the circumstances, he’d leave her to it, and only start _really_ nagging her if she kept it up for another day or two. In the end, Gren sighed, nodded, and obediently went off to unfold one of the cots at the side of the room, and removed most of his armour before allowing himself to fall into it. Then, with the practice and habituation of any trained soldier, he settled and fell asleep within minutes.

He woke hours later, at the habitual hour of dawn, and the first thing he noted (disapprovingly) was that the General was still at her desk, and had clearly not used her cot. He sat up and eyed her unhappily, and she turned at the flicker of motion he made in her periphery.

“Morning, Gren.” She said, fingers a little sluggish from exhaustion, but her face as alert as ever. “Get your armour on. It’s time to go see Opeli.”

He rubbed his eyes and reached for his boots, speaking aloud while his hands were occupied. “You’ve made up your mind?”

“Yes.” She nodded, expression grim and resolute. “I’ve made my decision.”

 

\---

 

Callum wasn’t used to travelling.

Even in the earlier days of this journey, when the river had done most of the walking for him, the travel had exhausted him. He supposed it made sense, in a way – when they’d set out, there had been so much uncertainty about _everything._ He hadn’t trusted Rayla nearly as much as he did now, and he’d been a little wary around her, and there was so much to worry about – maps and routes and evading guards and a hundred other things. So, he’d been exhausted, even then. And when they’d started walking for a good six to eight hours daily? _Yeesh._

So, with the aid of that utter, bone-deep tiredness, Callum had slept easily and deeply every night. He had a lot to worry about…but, for once, he wasn’t laying awake trying to quiet his mind enough to fall asleep. He wasn’t waking from dreams disturbed by an ambient, insistent anxiety. He’d been travelling almost a week, and miraculously, had slept well every night of that journey.

But, evidently, there was only so much worrying that could be offset by exhaustion.

This time, the anxiety of the day followed him into slumber, spawning vague and transient dreams plagued with a sense of unease, of urgency, of time running out. He came close to waking, a few times, aware that – that there was something he needed to do, that _time was running out_ , that he had to _do something –_ but each time he fell back asleep again without opening his eyes.

Until, some nameless stretch of time into the night, the dreams became distinctly less vague. Distinctly less transient. He woke with the sickening _crunch_ of a falling blade in his ears, with the red of blood painted in front of his eyes, with distress and panic pulling his heartbeat into overdrive-

Blinked, and replaced the image of blood with the image of dark fabric, pressed close against his face. Light ebbed and flowed gently in his peripheral vision, either Bait or the egg or both, and it took a good few disorientated moments for him to realise that he was awake, and in the tent, and…and had been woken by unpleasant dreams. It took him several more moments after that to register the warmth and solidity of what he was laying against, and quite a bit longer to wake up enough to figure out what that meant.

The realisation arrived like an electric shock through his limbs – he produced an undignified squeak, withdrawing his arm and scrambling away from Rayla as if burned. There was not exactly very far to scramble, in the tight confines of the tent, so he ended up squashing Ezran a bit in his haste to move away. Ezran, fortunately, didn’t seem to notice at all.

Face burning, Callum eyed Rayla warily, vigilant for any sign of her waking and demanding explanations for why he’d – well – why he’d latched onto her right arm like a teddy bear and then slept with his face pressed into her shoulder. She was a light sleeper, right? She must have noticed…

…except she’d been on the lilium, hadn’t she? And it had very obviously made her sleepy, so…

Callum stared at her in the dim light of the tent, and she didn’t move. Didn’t stir, except for the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. Her bad hand was settled on her belly, and her pale hair falling every-which-way around her head and horns. She didn’t wake.

Some of his mortification ebbed, at that. He’d got lucky, apparently, in unwittingly sleep-cuddling her on a night where it wouldn’t wake her. Still, though…

Unable to entirely restrain his concern, he stared carefully for a few moments, to track the speed of her breathing by the rise and fall of her torso. Slow, of course, since she was sleeping and still probably under the drug’s effects, but…fine.

He sighed, rubbed a hand over his face, and watched her tiredly. She looked different, like this. Not tense, not worried, not in pain and trying to hide it – just…sleeping. Completely, if temporarily, unaware of the bruise-dark spectacle of her dying hand. He hesitated, then reached out to gently press at the skin, just to make sure it would still go white. Mercifully, it did, and when he withdrew again he felt weird and kind of creepy about having poked and stared at a sleeping girl – a girl who was probably still too drugged to wake easily.

Embarrassed all over again, Callum shuffled away from her as much as he could without entirely squashing his brother, and tried to settle down again. He closed his eyes, and for several moments, couldn’t quite help the way that hopelessness rose around him like a dense fog, the way that the images from his dream sparked and remade themselves behind his eyes, blood-stained and choked with fear and dread.

There was some distraction to be found in the sounds from outside the tent. Rainfall, pattering against its fabric, and wind in the trees outside. Rayla had been right – the weather had turned. It was some distraction, but not quite enough. His thoughts ran over and over themselves, incoherent with exhaustion but still distraught. He didn’t want to do it. He didn’t want it to happen, he didn’t want to do it, but he’d have to, he’d _have to,_ there wasn’t any hope, not really…

It was perhaps a mercy that he managed to fall asleep before the despair grew too potent. But, considering the dreams, perhaps it wasn’t a mercy at all.

 

\---

 

Rayla’s sleep was thoroughly, pleasantly blissful for most of the night. She slumbered so deeply that she didn’t even feel the passage of the Moon overhead, didn’t stir at the movements or murmurs of her companions in the tent, and didn’t feel even the slightest insinuation of pain prickling her from sleep. Until, steadily, the benediction of the lilium receded: slowly, but remorselessly, until the ache in her hand started up, and then began to burn, and then drew her second-by-second from her sleep.

She made a low, unhappy sound at the pain, a quiet murmuring, and tried to ignore it until she was awake enough that she realised there was no sense in ignoring it. It would just hurt more and more as time went on, so she might as well resign herself to consciousness and be done with it.

Slowly, she sat up, blinking blearily. Her head ached violently and her mouth was drier than the Midnight Desert, but…

Rayla felt, absently, at her sense of the Moon, and concluded that dawn wasn’t far off. She’d slept through most of the night, then, and felt far better for it. She moved her hand, flexing it with a grimace while it was still not too awfully sore, and looked down at it. And blinked.

 _What’s with the bandage?_ She wondered, half-asleep and bewildered, and even less alert than her recent awakening should account for.

She pushed herself more firmly upright, blinking at her own wrist in the cyclical light Bait cast in his sleep. Gingerly, she reached out and plucked at the bandage, and felt something underneath protest the movement: a searing pain where she pulled, like there was an enormous blister there. That… _hadn’t_ been there yesterday. Had it?

Rayla frowned, fighting the sluggishness and odd, lingering haziness that mired her thoughts. What had _happened?_ She was in the tent, which was pretty normal, so they’d all gone to bed, and…what had happened yesterday?

They’d gone to the human town, and the boys had talked to their human healer, and then there’d been that whole thing with the goose and Ezran getting upset, and then she’d ended up trying the lilium to manage the pain-

Oh.

Right. Potent painkiller with side effects. Side effects that were, apparently, more virulent than she’d expected. She concentrated, and…thought she could remember the evening’s events, but they seemed sort of ridiculous. Dreamlike, and vaguely implausible. She remembered asking things that were stupid – that she’d never ask. Remembered-

 _You started peeling your skin off,_ she recalled, unbidden, in a half-indignant and half-anxious voice that sounded like Callum’s. She eyed her wrist warily, and reconsidered the plausibility of her memories.

Maybe she _would_ act like that and say such things if she were absolutely, ridiculously moonstruck on some weird human flower drug. She’d not expected it to be _that_ potent, but she knew that the strongest _Xadian_ painkillers could seriously mess with your head, so…why not the strongest human painkillers, too?

She groaned, half from the headache and half from the memories she now had to consider as genuine. _Did I really ask him if he had wings?_ She wondered, incredulous, and looked to her side at her companions. Callum was currently sleeping sort of balled-up, on his side, and as such was _not_ imposing his limbs into her or Ezran’ sides of the tent. Unusual. She observed him and his scruffy bed-hair for a few more moments, a smile slipping onto her lips, and then turned aside to look to take stock of herself and her things.

Apparently, she’d not managed to take her boots off before falling unconscious, as she was wearing those. She shrugged, and shuffled forwards, intending to slip out of the tent and go find something to drink, since she was absolutely _parched-_

Her hand fell on something rough, and she stopped. Looked down, and closed her fingers around two long pieces of willow bark.

For a moment she stared, sluggish mind struggling to comprehend what they were doing there, but – but there was only one explanation, wasn’t there? The boys had set out some of it for her, anticipating that she’d likely wake in pain – that she’d need it. She swallowed, and blinked rapidly against the sudden stinging in her eyes, finding herself suddenly and almost overwhelmingly moved by the sight of the little strips of bark in her hand.

 _Get yourself together, Rayla,_ she thought at herself, and raised an arm to wipe vigorously at her eyes. _It’s not a big deal. It’s just…_

Just a small, thoughtful gesture. A small, incontrovertible piece of evidence of how much they cared.

She swallowed again, considered the bark, and elected not to start chewing on any until she’d found a waterskin. That decided, she shuffled towards the tent door again, and peg-by-peg opened the inner layer, eyes moving to the bags stowed between the layers. And, there – both waterskins, side by side, not packed into the bags. Rayla grasped at one, carefully, with her bad hand, and sat back into the tent, raising it for a drink. She was even thirstier than she’d anticipated, and drained the thing entirely, setting it down in her lap with mild bemusement.

“Maybe it’s a side effect.” She muttered to herself, quietly, but reasonably confident that she’d not wake anyone, except possibly Bait. The boys had proven themselves very solid sleepers, after all.

Which was why she was surprised when Callum murmured something garbled and incomprehensible, unballed himself, and twitched noticeably. She stared at him, wondering if he’d just picked an especially coincidental time to move about in his sleep, but – he murmured something again, indistinct and almost agitated, and then suddenly shot awake so violently that he lurched upright in the process, his eyes wide and his breathing ragged.

Rayla blinked at him, astonished, as his eyes darted around in the sort of unseeing panic typical of someone unceremoniously shocked from slumber, and then finally settled on her. He stared for a few seconds, blinked at her several times, and then – she noted – looked down at her hands before looking up at her eyes again. “…Rayla?” He asked, voice croaky and uncertain.

“…Good morning?” She offered, a little nonplussed at how to proceed. He’d never woken up on his own before, let alone so suddenly.

“Morning?” he repeated, almost confused, as his eyes darted between her face and her hand a few times. A little comprehension dawned, then. “…Right.” He said, slowly, and raised a hand to wipe at the edges of his eyes. “…I was dreaming.”

She eyed him, inferring from the hollow, exhausted way he’d said it that it probably hadn’t been a happy sort of dream.

…Well, she supposed it was probably a miracle none of them had had nightmares until now, given the more than slightly traumatic implications the whole full-moon assassination thing at the castle had for all of them, but- “Let’s go outside.” She said, quietly, and nodded to his brother. “I don’t think he’ll wake up this early, but best not push it.”

Callum nodded at her a little gormlessly, clearly not entirely awake yet, or else not yet fully divorced from the clutches of his dreams. He slapped himself lightly on the cheeks, presumably in some bid for alertness, and then obligingly pulled himself and his scruffy head of hair to the front of the tent to look for his boots.

She unfastened the front tent door while he was shoeing himself, and then slipped outside, the smell of recent rainfall practically hitting her in the face as she moved into the damp air. It was cold enough outside to make her shiver, the increasing altitude and the dampness actually seeming to leave a light frost in places, and her breath steamed pale into the air as she emerged.

Rayla breathed, taking stock of the two burnt-out campfires and the small stack of unused firewood nearby. The boys hadn’t left the camp too messy, which was a pleasant surprise. She certainly didn’t remember any of the tidying, so either they’d done it after she fell asleep, or she’d _actually_ forgotten something. “Hm.” She expressed, and resolved to ask Callum about it at some point. She turned back to the tent at the rustle of him emerging from it, squinting and stumbling a little. He stared around with a strange lack of tracking, eyes not seeming to settle on anything in particular. He was oddly hesitant and clumsy as he rose from the tent.

“…Rayla?” he called to her, as if uncertain of her presence, despite her standing _right there_ next to him, just to his left _._ “Where are – _ack!_ “ He tripped over one of the storm-lines, arms flailing wildly as he tried to forestall his inevitable face-plant into the ground – she darted sideways to catch him, supporting him upright again until he seemed to have his balance.

“You okay there?” She asked, with a touch of humour, as she released his shoulder and let him stand alone. “Planning on tripping over any more bits of tent this morning?”

His eyes fixed on hers again even as he steadied himself, and said, a little grumpily, “Rayla, I can’t _see._ ”

Rayla blinked, nonplussed. “…You what?”

“It’s too dark.” He insisted, waving his hand out at the pre-dawn campsite. “The only thing I can really see right now is your _eyes_ – because they do that sort of…glowy thing? But everything else…”

She frowned, and looked out at the clearing, and then up at the sky. “…The sky’s getting lighter, though.” She said, a little hesitant. She knew she had significantly better night vision than humans – or even diurnal races of elf – but was it really _that_ much of a difference? “Can’t you see at _all?_ ”

He looked up and frowned at the sky. “I can see that it’s sort of lighter over there, and I can see the edges of trees next to the sky? I mean, that’s what I _assume_ the sort-of darker bit without any stars is.” He answered, a little uncertain, as if he wasn’t completely convinced that he could see the treeline at all. “But everything down here is too dark. I can’t even see the _ground.”_ He held his hand out experimentally and stared in its direction, brows furrowed. “…Actually, I can’t even see my hand.” His fingers waggled, as if trying to conjure greater visual acuity for his eyes.

She processed that, a little bewildered, and tried to imagine existing in a reality where night-time was too dark to _see_ in, even right before dawn. She couldn’t quite manage it. “Weird.” She expressed, eventually, and reached out with her good hand to grasp at the one he’d extended. “…Come on, I’ll stop you from tripping over the rest of the camp.” She said, tugging on his fingers.

He huffed, reluctantly amused, and allowed her to lead him away from the tent to the husks of the campfires. “…Thanks.” He said, and when she glanced at him, his cheeks had coloured a little.

Abruptly, Rayla _noticed_ their joined hands, eyes flicking down to them, and…well, it _was_ for legitimate guidance purposes, but – she resolutely pretended that it was not at all awkward, and tugged him down until he was seated, orienting towards her eyes again like a compass pointing north. She supposed it made sense, if that was all he could actually _see,_ but – well. She felt her own cheeks heat as she dropped his hand, and hoped it was too dark for him to see it.

She cleared her throat, dropped the willow bark into her lap, and reached to the side for a few unused branches and the neglected flint. It would probably be polite of her to allow Callum to see his surroundings, and that meant starting a fire. Unfortunately, the rainfall that had come in the night had left its mark, and the wood was damp enough to disdain the sparks. “Ugh.” She muttered, disgruntled, and tried several more times. The heat built enough for a spark or two to catch, reluctantly, on the vaguely-dried edges of one branch.

“…Oh, right. Wet firewood.” Callum realised, after watching the spark-shower for a while. “I didn’t think of that. How do you start a fire when all the wood is wet?”

“Find something dry to start it off in, usually.” She answered, distractedly, as she nursed the tiny embers at the edge of the branch. They slowly and tentatively built into a small, flickering flame, barely brighter than a candle. It was enough to cast some small light, though, so hopefully Callum could see _something_ now. He huddled close around the flame once it was set, and given the morning’s chill, that was something she could definitely sympathise with.

“…You used the flint yourself.” He said, after a moment, watching where she’d put it down. So, apparently, the little fire was enough for him to see by. “Is your – I mean, does your hand…?”

He didn’t complete his sentence, but she thought she could guess what he was asking. “It’s sore, but I don’t think the lilium has worn off completely yet, since it’s not too bad.” She grimaced, and turned her hand over so she could watch as she flexed it. She sort of wanted to see what was under those bandages on her wrist, but…at the same time… “I wanted to ask you about that, actually.” She said, reluctantly, and glanced to the side at him. He tensed a little, as if wary of some sort of reprimand.

He shifted, uneasily. “…Yeah, sure?” He said, eventually, not sounding especially sure at all.

Lightly, she trailed her fingers to the edge of the bandage that obscured the binding. “What’s all this about?”

He followed her motions, and blinked, a little of the wariness ebbing from his posture. “You don’t remember?” He asked, obviously surprised.

“Sort of. Not well. I remember some things, but it feels sorta…dreamlike. Hard to tell if it actually happened or not.”

For whatever reason, he looked distinctly self-conscious at that. “…Right. Er.” For a second he stared at her side-long, with the sort of barely-restrained energy that made her think he was going to blurt out a question – but then, visibly, he stopped himself. Instead of whatever he’d been about to say, he asked “So…you don’t remember what you did to your wrist?”

She stilled, turning fully towards him at the _implications_ of that question. “ _I_ did – _no,_ I don’t remember!” She hissed, alarmed, as she stared down at the bandage with new worry. She’d hurt _herself?_ The lilium had messed with her _that_ badly? What had she even _done?_

Unbidden, she recalled that scrap of vague memory – something like Callum’s voice, high and distressed, though the words were hard to recall…

Rayla exhaled, as she grasped just enough to have a pretty good idea of what had happened. “Please tell me I didn’t _actually_ peel my own skin off.” She said, resigned, with no actual expectation of getting an answer she’d like. More as just…a token attempt at hoping that she hadn’t _actually_ been far gone enough in a drug-induced haze to do something that stupid.

“Er.” He offered, wincing a little, his eyes sweeping down to her bandage. “Well. More like _scratched,_ but…”

Her fingers squirmed with an twitchy, crawling feeling as her mind helpfully provided the image of – of scratching at her wrist because it itched _so horribly,_ the strangely satisfying sensation of wet skin pulling away beneath her nails, the odd and distant sting of air on the raw red that she uncovered. She hoped, without much optimism, that that was just an unusually detailed and disgusting mental image, rather than an actual memory. “Ugh.” She expressed, after a moment, feeling the area beneath the bandage prickling and searing as she paid it more attention. “Well, isn’t that just _peachy._ ”

“Well, it’s…not ideal.” Callum agreed, diplomatically, and his eyes flickered up to her face. After a second of consideration, he shuffled closer, hands rising in the direction of her bound wrist. “I’d like to check on it, if that’s okay? I think I should disinfect it again. Change the bandage, too.” She inclined her head a little, offering her hand, and his fingers hovered around the bandage. He looked up, a little anxiously, as he hesitated with their hands not-quite-touching. “I mean, if…if the lilium’s wearing off…it’ll probably hurt.”

“It’s not too bad yet.” She sighed, with an odd flicker of bemusement in her gut, because…well. Not so long ago, the soreness and ache of her hand would have been the worst pain she’d ever experienced, but then, obviously, it had grown considerably worse. So this almost seemed bearable, compared to how it had been yesterday morning. “I’d probably better have some willow bark, though.” She glanced down at her lap, where she’d deposited the two pieces she’d found in the tent.

He jolted a little at that, as if in sudden recollection. “Right! I forgot about – did you find the-“ She held up a piece of the medicinal tree-skin, questioningly, and he nodded as his eyes went to it, fingers still lingering at the edges of her bandages. “-yeah, that.” He finished, after a moment, going oddly still for a second. A moment later, he starting pulling carefully at the tie on her bandage, deliberately not meeting her eyes.

“I found it.” She agreed, and looked across at him. She swallowed past a lump in her throat, feeling that uncomfortably insistent emotion of earlier insinuate itself upon her, and asked almost without thinking “You…left it out for me?” She’d not thought, specifically, on which of the boys had been responsible for the gesture, and had as such unthinkingly attributed it to the both of them…and found herself bizarrely and disproportionately affected by the possibility that it had been _Callum,_ specifically, who’d laid out the bark for her.

He fidgeted, not quite meeting her eyes, and coloured a little. “I thought the lilium would probably wear off in the night.” He mumbled, not quite indistinctly or quietly enough for her to have difficulty parsing the words. “I just – you know – wanted you to have it there if you woke up and, well, if your hand was hurting.” He shrugged nervously, and fixed his eyes carefully on her wrist, fingers coaxing the bandage open.

Rayla stared at him for several long seconds, bewildered and a little shaken at the strength of feeling that clutched at her chest. She wanted to reach out, to close her fingers around his again, a sudden and startling need for – contact, maybe. Or closeness. She shied away from the thought, oddly alarmed by it, and ruthlessly squashed the impulse. At once, she was strangely, intensely aware of Callum’s hands working carefully around her own.

She cleared her throat, bizarrely off-kilter, and managed to say “…Thanks.” Then, somewhat mercifully, she was distracted by the sensation of the bandage falling away, and air hitting the skin below. It _burned_ , in a cold sort of way, as the much cooler air came into contact with – she _stared_ – with raw, glistening-red flesh.

Yesterday, the skin there had been puffy and tender, and obscenely painful. Now…plainly, it had opened into luridly-red sores, wet on the sides of her wrist, on _both_ sides of the binding. The sores plainly extended further than the exposed portion, the edges wreathed with damp, discoloured skin that was peeling back, pale and bloated with fluid.

“That’s _disgusting._ ” She said, almost morbidly fascinated, as she squashed down the despairing part of her that was noting another step towards to the loss of her hand. She bore the increasingly awful sting of the air on the sores for a few more seconds before, finally, she popped a piece of willow bark into her mouth. Regrettably, the effect of willow bark was decidedly _not_ instantaneous, so it did absolutely nothing to quell the more immediate searing of the sores.

Callum grimaced as he carefully set the bandages aside, their white stained an unhealthy pink. When he didn’t say anything, she glanced up at him fully, and saw his face tightening the longer he looked at her wrist. His shoulders stiffened, and when he breathed, it looked to be a sort of deliberate, controlled exhalation. “I think the sores on the arm-side of your binding look sort of better.” He said, with a very forced sort of optimism.

She looked down, dubiously. “They do?” They looked a bit more dry, maybe?

He nodded as if to confirm her unspoken thought. “They’ve dried out a bit. Started scabbing over. Pretty sure that means they’ve started healing, which is…good.” In contrast, this meant that the sores on the other side of the binding were _not_ healing. She could see that observation written all over his face, even if he didn’t speak it.

Rayla stayed silent for long, sombre moments, staring at the wreck of her wrist. It looked…horrible. Disgusting, even. When she stopped looking at it in the abstract, with that odd and instinctive distance – stopped looking at it like an injured wrist rather than _her_ injured wrist – her throat clenched with sudden nausea, a hint of horror making her eyes sting. It looked _awful,_ and it _hurt,_ and it was only going to get _worse-_

She took a deep, shuddering breath, and forcibly shoved the feelings away. Distanced herself, just enough to keep a level head. “…Going to be a pain to stop that getting infected.” She noted, clinically.

Callum nodded, slowly, and when she looked up at him his face was oddly pale. He’d been staring at the open sores with what seemed like a similar brand of horror. “…Yeah, I’d better….” He swallowed, shuddered visibly with what might have been revulsion, might have been any number of things. “I’d better get the disinfectant. Clean it and bandage it again.”

She nodded, and stood. “I’ll get it.” She said, with a forced humour that she suspected fell flat. “If you go, you’ll trip over half the camp on your way over.”

He sighed, casting his eyes across the campsite. “…Yeah, probably.” He agreed, resigned.

When she returned with the bag, he was nursing the fire, coaxing it steadily brighter along the damp boughs. Her wrist burned more with every second, the movement and moving air seething on the exposed sores. She chewed her willow bark more determinedly, but suspected it wasn’t quite equal to the task of dulling this kind of pain. Her eyes slipped unerringly back to the wounds, and found herself thinking _that’s definitely going to scar_ before she caught herself.

Of course it wasn’t going to scar. It’d be a _stump_ soon enough, after all.

“We should probably start boiling bandages in the evenings.” Callum said, absently, breaking her from the dark thoughts. She looked up, breathing her way past the feeling of her throat closing up, blinking past the prickling of her eyes. He was dousing a wad of bandage in the clear spirits from the bottle. “Make sure they’re clean.”

“Boil the used ones, too.” She added, voice a little thicker than she’d have preferred, and he blinked. “So we can use them again.”

“….Didn’t think of that.” He said, a little ruefully, looking down at the pink-stained bandage he’d removed from her wrist and then discarded. “It makes sense, though. Bandages are good for a lot of things. And we’re going to be travelling a long time, I guess.” He looked somewhat nonplussed, though, and she thought she could guess why. He was still plainly unused to the idea of working with finite resources.

“You’ll want to be sparing with the disinfectant too.” She informed him. “Hard to get more of that, out in the wilderness. And there’s only so many medicinal plants I can find.”

“…Right.” He agreed, now looking distinctly daunted, but did take care with the alcohol. Uncapped the bottle and pressed bandage to it, tipping it just enough to wet the fabric. This he held out to her, meeting her eyes, a clear question in his bearing.

She braced herself, and held out her wrist for easier access. Nodded, tersely, and watched as he lowered the imbued bandage to the open sores.

It _burned;_ it stung like acid on the skin, like salt in an open wound, and she was entirely unable to restrain the hiss of pain at it. She clenched her teeth around the bark in her mouth in part as a coping mechanism, and clenched the fingers of her other hand over her knee. Callum flinched at the reaction, as sensitive to her pain as always, but gritted his teeth and got on with it before she had to tell him to, and she very determinedly exorcised her subsequent reactions into the willow-bark.

He was as quick and careful as he could be, and she let out a shaky breath when he dabbed at the blister, evidently finished with her wrist sores. “Just need to wrap it again now.” He murmured at her, voice gentle and reassuring like it had been when he helped her with the gauntlet, and she allowed herself to relax from the full-body tension she’d borne through the burn of the disinfectant.

“Peachy.” She sighed, and watched him as he tied fresh bandage around her wrist and then her finger. She thanked him when he was done, and he offered a small and earnest smile before offering to go off and get water from the river for boiling. She eyed him dubiously at this, and glanced up at the sky. Still lighter than before, to her, but… “Can you see your way around yet?” She asked, sceptically, and his face fell.

“Er…actually, probably not.” He admitted, and swivelled his head around to stare into the dark beyond their meagre, reluctant fire. “…No, I’d probably trip over a tree root and fall into the river or something.”

Her hands _clenched_ at that; both of them. “Not a great time to take a swim, so, better not.” She said, dryly, to disguise the mortal terror that any mention of close encounters of the watery kind could inspire in her. “I’ll do it.” She decided, the next second, with the sort of grim resolve that most people reserved for heroic last stands.

Callum frowned, fidgeted with his fingers, and asked “Are you sure? We could just wait a bit, and then I could go instead. You shouldn’t have to go near the river if you don’t need to.”

Rayla inspected him, a warm flutter of affection starting up again in her gut. “No, that’s sweet, but there’s no point wasting time.” She shook her head, shifting her weight in preparation to rise. “If we’re both up early, we’d best use the time properly.”

“…Alright.” He accepted, and settled into place as she stood. “Anything you want me to do while you’re gone?”

She considered it. “Get the pot ready to boil things, I guess. Make sure you’ve got your primal stone around in case any Verdorn-humans ambush us.” She fetched the thing herself, and then tossed it into his lap as she returned.

He looked abruptly amused at that, shifting the primal stone to the fireside. “You said something like that last night.” He said, lips quirking with the reminiscence. “Something about needing to stand watch in case townspeople decided to attack us in the night?”

Rayla paused, frowning a little as she tried to remember. “…I don’t remember that part.” She said, disgruntled. “Not even a little.”

“Well, you _were_ kind of falling asleep at the time.” He said, reasonably, turning to watch her as she went over to the tent to take the waterskins, and also to retrieve Callum’s light travel cloak with its handy hood. She strapped the former to her hip and slung the latter over her shoulders, fastening it carefully at the front.

“…I’ll take your word for it.” She sighed, a little disgruntled at having to take someone else’s word for her own actions. Maybe this was why the older assassins had lamented their anecdotes of excessive drunkenness? There seemed to be some degree of memory loss involved in alcohol-related intoxications, too. “I’ll be back in about ten minutes. Shout if anyone attacks you?”

“Will do.” He said, and watched after her as she slipped into the trees. There was something strangely tense about the line of his shoulders, and the way he stared after her as she left – but then she was too far into the trees to see him anymore, and she pushed the observations to the back of her mind.

 

\---

 

When Rayla left, there was a strange pressure to the way he watched her recede into the darkness. A feeling like holding his breath, or waiting, desperately, for – for something. He didn’t quite realise what that _something_ was until she was gone, and he was alone, and – and there was a sudden quiescence of some subliminal drive, something that had been saying _keep it together for her, don’t fall apart –_ and then it _stopped,_ and…

All at once, breath burst from him in panicky, gusty sobs, the breaking of the dam so forceful that he abruptly realised what he’d been holding in. He’d kept composed, hadn’t he? Talked to her and cleaned and bandaged her sores, and he’d _held himself together,_ because surely she had enough to deal with without adding his panic and fear and nightmares on top of it all. But now that she was out of sight – hopefully out of hearing – he couldn’t quite manage it anymore. There were no tears on his cheeks, but the breath gasped and shuddered in and out of him like air from a bellows, and his shoulders shook, and he couldn’t tell whether he was crying or panicking or _both._

 _We’ll find something,_ he thought to himself, desperately, like a drowning man grasping for a thrown line. He told himself _there’s still time,_ as if it would change anything, and felt fear clutching a little more keenly at his heart with every moment. He thought of the lurid-red sores spreading across her wrist, the blister on her finger – and felt bile rise in his throat, sharp and acidic, at what that image represented.

 _I can’t help her_ , he thought, numbly, and raised his hands to press against his face. _I can’t help her._ The after-image of the fire’s light lingered in his vision for a few seconds after he covered his eyes, and he breathed, shaky and shuddery, shoulders hitching.

Even through the panic and despair, he tried to clutch at some semblance of control. Rayla wouldn’t be gone for long. Not for long, and…he had to be better when she got back.

He lowered his hands, and drew the primal stone into his lap as some meagre form of comfort while he breathed and breathed and breathed. It was smooth and cool, the glass tingling against his skin, with that faint crackly undertone of static. He stared at it, fingers trembling on its surface, and failed to feel the thrill of delight that it usually inspired in him. _Useless_ , he thought, with a bitterness that stretched further than to the powerlessness of the stone.

And then there was a slight rustling from the direction of the trees, just enough in the quiet of the hour for him to hear. He looked up, cautiously, and saw the familiar pinpricks of light that were Rayla’s eyes emerging from the dark. He wondered if he was getting better at hearing her coming…or if she just wasn’t in a state to sneak as easily as before.

Determinedly, he squashed down every trace of the fear – the fear, the panic, the bile-taste of helplessness – into a place where it couldn’t quite grasp him in ways that she could see. “…Hi, Rayla.” He greeted her, quietly relieved that his voice hadn’t gone suspiciously hoarse or shaky or frail. “Nice trip?”

“As nice as a trip to a river can be, I suppose.” Her voice was dry as she approached and settled beside the fire, its light settling onto her features as she put down the waterskins. His eyes drifted unerringly to her hand, before he managed to tear them away again.

He took the pot and filled it from one of the skins, and set it carefully over the fire. “No ambushes while you were gone, you’ll be pleased to know.” He said, in an attempt at humour that fell somewhat flat. Apparently, not-falling-apart was about the extent of what he could manage right now.

She snorted anyway. “Let’s keep it that way.” She said, and shuffled over to compile the bandages.

They spent a while there, talking quietly while the fire grew and the sky lightened and the tentative bird-calls arranged themselves into a proper dawn-chorus. The water did boil, eventually, though the fire was particularly sullen about growing on rain-damp wood, and they pushed the bandages around in the hissing water with the tip of Rayla’s blades until she deemed them ‘probably clean’. Callum then took them away to get them dry with a few judicious applications of _aspiro,_ because otherwise they’d just go damp and smelly in their bags during the day. There should have been something almost amusing about using an incredibly rare and valuable magical relic like a Primal Stone to dry off laundry, but…he wasn’t really in a state of mind to appreciate the humour.

And then there was very little to do except sit, and talk, and carefully avoid the topics that they were pointedly trying not to think about. Paradoxically, that just made him even more aware of them. Callum passed the time with questions about the sorts of edible plants found in mountains, and pretended that his eyes didn’t keep returning to Rayla’s definitely-not-doomed hand.

Eventually, the sky was light enough that he glanced over at the tent, wondering “Should we wake Ez up soon? It’s not that early now.”

Rayla didn’t even need to glance at the sky to check it, and hummed pensively. “Normally I let you two sleep in a bit later.” She said, thoughtfully. “But you’re right, it’s not too early. And we’re too close to humans. I’d really like to get going a bit earlier.”

“Then we’ll wake him up.” Callum nodded, and with only a little effort, pressed a smile onto his face, and a teasing note into his voice. “Can’t risk someone ambushing us while we’re camped, right?”

“Oh, shut up.” Rayla grumbled, though she was plainly stifling her own smile. “It’s a valid concern. We’re only about a five minute walk from human houses. We _could_ have been ambushed in the night.”

“But we _weren’t_.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Callum, I noticed that, thank you.” She said, dry, and her lips finally curved into the smile she’d been restraining. “Still-“ She stopped, suddenly, the sentence truncating as her head snapped around to stare at the forest, smile falling from her lips in the space of a second. Her ears twitched, noticeably _twitched_ , and he hadn’t known they did that – but he was more occupied with the alert, focused expression suddenly settling onto her face.

“…What is it?” he asked, uneasily, in a silence that held for ten tense seconds before she spoke.

“The universe has a _terrible_ sense of irony.” She said, and pulled her hood up moments before two random men stepped into their clearing from the trees. They stopped short, blinking, and – they were both armed, both with longbows – they lowered their weapons, plainly perplexed.

Callum stared at them, wide-eyed with surprise. The men stared back. “Uh…hi?” he offered, after a second, weakly. He glanced a little desperately to the side to make sure Rayla’s hood _had_ gone up properly, and – good, it had-

“What are you kids doing camping out here?” The first one asked, a broad-shouldered and thickset man asked, bewildered, as his posture loosened. Callum noticed, abruptly, the sight of a dead pigeon tied to his side. So…they were hunters? Maybe? “Are your parents in the tent? …Are you from Verdorn?”

“Er.” He said, scrambling for explanations, but then-

“Wait.” Said the second man, eyes narrowed, a hand raising to forestall any further inquiry from his companion. He stared. “Is that-“ He stopped.

A second passed in which the man’s expression quickly transmuted from suspicion to alarm.

He grabbed his companion by the arm, frantic, and _pointed._ “Elf!” He shouted, panicked, gesturing wildly as Callum’s gut dropped and Rayla tensed conspicuously beside him. “ _It’s an_ _elf!_ Look!”

“What?” The first man scoffed, dismissive for all of a second before- “She’s just –“ he stopped. “Oh.”

Callum followed their gaze to Rayla’s hands. Rayla’s _uncovered_ hands. He looked at her, and for a second they shared identical looks of dismay, before she swept her hands belatedly behind her back.

“Who, me?” She asked, cheerful, all East-country accent and folksy charm, “I’m just a human girl, who likes the human things!”

“You’re an _elf_!” The second man shrieked, evidently unconvinced, and raised his bow-

Abruptly, over the next few seconds, Callum was violently reminded that he hadn’t actually really seen Rayla in action before. Sort of, when she was chasing him, and sort of, against Claudia’s shadow-wolves, but…he hadn’t seen her hunt, hadn’t particularly seen her fight, and now-

One moment, she was beside him, seated on the grass. The next she was sweeping across the clearing, stance low, a blade already unsheathed and ready at her hand. She moved so fast, he could hardly tell what she was doing – she swept her blade across the bowstring, kicked the man’s legs in, and then whacked him solidly on the nape of the neck. He made a gurgling noise and fell to the ground, stunned and barely moving, and while Callum was staring at _him_ he didn’t quite notice whatever Rayla did to the other guy – but whatever it was, it ended with him on the floor, too, one arm pinned behind his back and Rayla _standing on_ his back, crouched low as she divested him of the coil of rope at his side.

 _Whoa,_ Callum thought, heart in his throat, as he stared at the conclusion of a conflict that had barely lasted five seconds.

“Callum. Come here and help me tie this guy up.” She ordered him, voice terse, shoving the hunter a little roughly back into the ground as he tried to push up and free himself. “Kind of hard to do without any hands.”

Because, he realised, she was using her good hand to pin the guy, and her bad hand probably wasn’t up to the task of that sort of dexterity. “…Sure.” He agreed, weakly, and shuffled over to follow her directives.

So it was that he spent his morning being shown how to properly restrain a captive, all the while said captive wailed about his no-doubt imminent demise and descended into hysterics when he was moved enough to see his apparently-unconscious companion.

“ _Oh my lord you killed him,”_ The man wailed, in a surprisingly high-pitched voice. “You killed him, he’s dead, I’m dead, I’m going to die-“

“Oh, shut _up_.” Rayla muttered to him, irritably, as she moved off enough to pull on one of the knots Callum had tied to tighten it. “He’s barely even unconscious.”

The hunter either ignored her or failed to listen, and chanted “ _Mercy spare me and Justice avenge me if I fall-“_

She huffed, and apparently deeming him sufficiently restrained, rolled him away and nudged Callum towards the other guy. Who, he noted, did seem to be stirring, like he was on the verge of waking, sort of rolling and making indistinct noises of complaint. “ _Humans.”_ She muttered, under her breath, and at that, Callum gave her a _look_. She had the decency to look mildly abashed, at least, and shrugged as she helped him through the process of tying this one up, too.

She left the second one with his hands ostensibly free enough to untie his buddy, even if his legs were too tied-up to walk with, and then stepped back to stare at them.

“…Are we going to leave them here, then?” He asked, tentatively.

“Sadly, yes.” She sighed. “Hopefully they’ll be tied up long enough that no one will come after us too soon. But, ugh. What a _pain.”_

It was then that Ezran poked his head out of the tent, apparently awoken from sleep by the sound of the conscious hunter’s caterwauling. He stared, wide-eyed and alarmed, and rubbed his eyes. Blinked.

“What did I _miss?_ ” he asked, bemused, and…looking at his brother’s confused face, Callum put his face in his hands and started to laugh.

 

\---

 

It was something of an unusual experience to pack up their camp with a couple of tied-up humans spectating from the periphery.

Not long after they’d finished restraining them, the man she’d dazed with the hit to the nape regained his wits, staring upside-down at the spectacle they made, and then at the spectacle his companion was _still_ making with his shrieking. Honestly, if it had gone on any longer, Rayla would have seriously considered gagging him, but as it was: the second man got the first man to shut up and promptly started engaging him in an urgent, whispered conversation.

Obviously, she could hear every word.

 _“Can you get to your knife?”_ Hissed the more collected human, while his companion squirmed like a worm on a hook, rolling ineffectually about the damp ground. In so doing, he began to accumulate a fine coating of loam and leaf-litter over his body.

The man’s fingers strained, but his wrists were quite solidly tied behind his back, with no access to his weapon belt. “ _No!”_ He whispered back, with an edge of barely-restrained panic. “ _What are we going to do?!”_

 _“Stop panicking, for a start. Can you get to_ my _knife?”_

She kept an ear on their conversation as it progressed, and occasionally looked over to check whether or not they were approaching any kind of successful escape attempt. They always froze under her gaze, wide-eyed like frightened rabbits. She huffed and turned back to helping the others, packing up what she could on her own.

“We’ll eat while we walk.” She informed her boys, as she saw Callum staring a little covetously at one of the jars of cold meat. “Best not hang around here longer than we need to.”

“…Sure.” He said, eventually, eyes straying to their captives again. “So we’re just…gonna leave them there?”

“More or less.” She agreed, looking over their party with a searching eye. She gave the camp another once-over before deeming them ready to depart, and nodded. Then, briskly, she strode over to the captives, both of whom froze with abject terror at her approach. The less-collected one started babbling about Mercy again. The second one hissed to his companion, very vehemently, _‘Don’t panic!’_

She rolled her eyes, bent down over the calmer one, and removed his knife from his belt. This was the point at which the second guy absolutely lost it and started shrieking again, this time at close enough range that it was absolutely _piercing._ She winced, feeling the beginnings of a headache brewing in her skull, and then stabbed the knife firmly into the ground beside them.

“There.” She told them, inwardly bewildered at how strange her life had become, to be leaving two human _witnesses_ alive with the means to free themselves. “Now shut up.”

With that, she turned back to her boys, who were staring with evident confusion at the knife she’d planted in the ground. She rolled her eyes again, sighed, and then herded them away from the campsite.

“Come on, you.” She said to them, unsurprised at their lack of comprehension, and listened as the captive humans started whispering urgently to each other again behind them. “Let’s get moving.” She shushed them the first few times they tried to start talking, wary of whatever range of hearing the hunters had, until she thought they were at a distance that could more-or-less be called safe. “Well, that was annoying.” She announced, upon making this assessment.

Callum eyed her, looking a touch ornery at having been shushed. “Am I allowed to talk now?” He asked, flatly, while Rayla swung her bag around to extract a jar from it.

“If you like.” She said generously, popping the jar open and proffering it to him. He maintained his irritation for about four more seconds, before the siren-call of food won him over. He relented, grabbing a good-sized chunk of cold gooseflesh and taking a generous bite. She’d dispensed more of it to a lightly-frowning Ezran by the time he’d chewed enough to talk.

“So, what was with that knife?” He asked, after swallowing. “And…um, aren’t you worried they’ll just sort of lay there until they…you know, starve? Or get eaten by a banther?”

“Banthers don’t eat people.” Ezran muttered, almost reproachfully. “They’d only do it if they were starving.”

Callum side-eyed his brother and amended his statement. “Aren’t you worried they’ll get eaten by a _starving_ banther?”

Rayla waved a hand dismissively. Given this reflex action turned out to involve her bound and incredibly painful hand, the effect of the gesture was distinctly lost as she winced and clutched it to her chest. “…Nah.” She answered, eventually. “That’s what the knife is for. I left their hands free, so they should be able to work out how to grab the knife and cut the rope off each other.”

Ezran blinked up at her. “What if they can’t?” He inquired.

She shrugged. “Too dumb to live.” She assessed, and received a scandalised spluttering noise from Callum for her troubles.

“ _Rayla._ ” He complained, levelling her with a distinctly disapproving stare.

She made a dismissive sound this time, rather than a gesture, and said “Oh, come on. If they _are_ too dumb to figure out what to do with the knife, they’re not exactly far from the town. Or all those mills. Someone’ll find them.”

“Hmmm.” Still evidently unimpressed, he took another bite of his breakfast. Shortly afterwards, he tripped over a tree root, neatly ruining whatever gravitas he might have been aiming for. She rolled her eyes and caught him by the arm until he found his balance again, amused all over again at his pronounced clumsiness when he was distracted.

“I don’t even know how it happened.” Ezran said, eyeing his own handful of breakfast with a somewhat conflicted expression. “I just woke up and heard someone yelling and then I went outside and there were guys tied up.”

“It’s not really a complicated story.” Callum said, shrugging. “We were just sitting down and talking and then those guys showed up, and one of them saw Rayla’s elf-hands…”

“I can’t believe I forgot about the _hands._ ” She muttered to herself, vaguely embarrassed. She’d raised the hood, but that was a pretty useless thing to do if she left her hands in plain sight. “I’ll not make _that_ mistake again.”

“Keep your gloves handy.” Callum advised.

“Ha!” Ezran said, prompting a blink and a confused look from his brother.

“What? Did I say – oh, _handy,_ right. Heh.” He huffed, half-heartedly amused – at least up until his eyes slid to her hands again. The half-formed smile slid from his face and left it tense and empty. “…Can we have breakfast, now?” He asked, as if to distract from the turning of his mood, but Rayla knew what she’d seen.

She watched him for a few seconds, solemn, then fetched the jar for him. “Have at it.” She said, gut churning, and turned to speed up a little. Suddenly, she wanted to be _away_ from Callum and Ezran and their too-obvious fears, but…well. It wasn’t as though she could go substantially ahead of them without them getting lost in her absence. But she could at least walk ahead of them, where she didn’t have to see Callum’s face whenever he looked at her hand.

Rayla ignored the quiet murmurs exchanged behind her – _“Did I say something?_ ” – “ _Dunno.” –_ and slipped another chunk of bark between her teeth.

Even with the willow bark she kept chewing, Rayla could _feel_ the lilium wearing off, some subtle haze on her thoughts dissipating and leaving a headache behind, then ever-more retracting its blessing from her body. The pain of her wrist sores welled up in her like blood from a wound, flaring every time she stepped and her hand jolted and the shock of the tiny impact magnified the ache from her wrist to her entire body. It was almost worse, that her fingers were starting to hurt less than they had before, the numb ache just becoming…numb tingling. She gritted her teeth, and kept moving, because what else could she do?

Dread was seething like a living thing in her gut, and the longer she walked, the harder it was to ignore. She’d _been_ ignoring it, pushing it away and breathing past it and casting it aside for _days_ as her hand grew worse and worse and _worse –_ but the human healer had said it, hadn’t she? She didn’t have long. She didn’t have long at all. She’d have to face this, soon, and then it would be over, and then – then, she’d just have to deal with it. She’d _have_ to deal with it, and there was no way around it, so _why_ was it so hard not to face it _now?_ Get it over with _now?_

For all their optimism and all their hope, she knew the boys were faltering. She could hardly miss it – it was plain in the way that Ezran watched her with solemn, troubled eyes, in the way that Callum couldn’t seem to stop looking at her hand as if watching the sand spill from its hourglass, as if watching her time running out in front of his eyes. And – it essentially _was,_ wasn’t it? He’d have to be an idiot to miss it, to not realise that inevitability was closing around them and that there was _nothing_ they could do to stop it.

She needed to just…say it. Tell them. Say it _out loud_ , that there was nothing to be done, that they needed to deal with that, that it was time to start thinking about when and how to – to do the amputation, and make sure she could still travel afterwards…

She needed to just _say_ it. But, even now, she couldn’t seem to get the words out, and that was just another frustration to pile on top of all the rest.

Rayla was already hiding the truth about their father from them, and that – that was _horrible._ Keeping that secret felt like more and more of a betrayal every day, but she _still_ couldn’t tell them, and…this should be _easier,_ shouldn’t it? It should be easier to tell them to give up on her _own hand._ She should at least be able to tell them _this._

But, still, she just…couldn’t.

The failure burned, almost more vicious than the wounds.

Almost.

 

 

\---

 

Rayla grew quieter and more withdrawn the longer they walked. She stayed ahead, where she could, and wouldn’t look at them. It felt weird and uncomfortable to talk to Ezran about it when he _knew_ she could hear them, so…for the most part, they just exchanged increasingly unhappy glances, trying to carry on conversation that somehow edged around the painful presence of the topic they were all trying to avoid. It came out awkward and stilted, falling into strained silences and grim thoughts and a sense of dread that grew with every passing minute.

…And, through it all, Ezran was acting….weird.

Callum knew his brother. He knew when Ez was trying to avoid something unpleasant, and this – wasn’t quite that. He also knew what it looked like when Ez was trying to _hide something –_ and that felt a lot closer to the way he was behaving now. He watched Rayla with the sort of uneasy anxiety Callum might have expected, but…there was something off about it. Something about the way he kept looking down, pensive and almost furtive, with a shadow of uncertainty over his brow.

He had elected to carry his backpack in his arms today, though with Bait sat atop it, it had to be way heavier than just carrying it the normal way. And – for a second Callum thought Ezran had suddenly _lost_ fingers, because a couple of them just plain weren’t visible on the bag’s side – but no, that wasn’t it, there was a _hole_ in the bag. He’d not said a word about it, but – Callum could see it, now that he was looking, a point where one of the seams had ripped to make a little gap in the sturdy fabric. Enough for Ez to, apparently, touch the egg through. There was something….distinctly _off_ about that. As if he were trying to hide, for whatever reason, this strange thing he had going on with that dragon egg. How long had that hole been there? Had it happened on its own? ….Or, had Ez _made_ it, the better to be furtive about his egg-weirdness?

Even with how all-consuming the issue of Rayla’s hand was, Callum found he still had enough mental space to worry about his brother. To think, uneasily, on his thoughts on enthrallment, and wonder what it was that Ez was trying to keep a secret.

He considered, again and again, bringing it up. Asking Ezran about the egg. About the hole in his bag, even, since that was just plain _weird._ But pressing his brother on some weird secret…

Ez could be really, really bull-headed about things when he tried. And frankly, with all the stress, Callum wasn’t sure he was up to wrestling truths out of his brother today.

…Maybe in a couple of days? After all, by then…

He squashed down both the thought and the sickening pang of dread, took a shaky breath, and kept walking.

After a couple of hours, Rayla stopped abruptly ahead of them, and he was reflexively alarmed until he saw her craning her neck to look upwards into the branches of a large tree. “Rayla?” He called to her, even as he and Ez caught up to her and closed the distance she’d been maintaining all through the day. “What is it?”

“This tree has a _cloudberry vine_.” She said, sounding almost bemused by her own words. “I didn’t even know you could _get_ cloudberries here.”

“…Is that good?” Ezran inquired, looking up to follow her gaze, and Callum did the same. He could see a somewhat morose-looking vine winding around the branches of the distinctly bedraggled tree. The tree itself seemed mostly dead, which made it easier to pick out the pale blue of the berry clusters.

“I’ve never seen – um, cloudberries? – before.” He said, intrigued. “Can you eat them?”

“They’re not as nice-tasting as the other kind of cloudberry, but…yeah.” Rayla nodded, a little distractedly, brow furrowed as she looked up at the tree. There was something about her hesitance that drew his eyes to her again, and then he saw the way she seemed to be measuring the tree up, as if uncertain of how to proceed.

He noticed the way she held her injured hand at her side, still and careful and rigid, as though to guard it against jolts from sudden movement..

“There’s another type of cloudberry?” Ezran asked, eyes moving between Rayla and the vine. He probably wasn’t oblivious to the subtext either.

“One’s a vine and one grows on the ground. They look and taste completely different, even if they’ve got the same name.” She answered, still sizing up the tree. A little cautiously, she withdrew a blade with her good hand and flicked it to its hook form, and…watching her uneasy approach, Callum couldn’t help but remember the first couple days they’d been travelling, where she could take to the trees so effortlessly it seemed as easy as breathing.

And now…

“…Are you going to try to pick them?” He asked, uneasily, looking between her hook and the vine. It was pretty high up. The tree looked mostly dead, and had very little leafage, but it was still…well, very tall.

“I’d better try.” She said, expression going somewhat steely. “Or we might not have anything but meat to eat for _days_ , and that’s not much better than having nothing but berries.”

Still, though, she didn’t climb. Ezran stared at her, brows furrowed, and offered “I’m a pretty good tree-climber? I could try doing it.”

If Ez had been trying to spare her from what was likely to be a very difficult task, he thoroughly failed. Perhaps it was the implication that a ten-year-old human prince needed to pick up the slack for her, or…something. It could have been a lot of things. Either way, Ezran’s words put such a _scowl_ on Rayla’s face that Callum reflexively took a step back at the sight of it. “ _No,_ ” She said, jaw set and eyes fixed almost angrily on the vine above. “I can do it. It’s fine.”

Callum shifted on his feet, uneasy, and shared an alarmed glance with his brother. “Rayla…” he attempted, but didn’t get any further than that.

“I said _it’s fine,”_ Rayla snapped at him, and then – she squared her shoulders, raised the pick, and launched herself at the tree.

He called her name again, almost indignantly, at the same time as his brother. She lodged the hook into the tree’s bark, bad hand held stiffly against her side, and looked if anything _more_ determined at the sound of her name.  He hurried up to the tree trunk and stared up at her, fingers twitching anxiously, as if itching to follow her. That was a dumb idea, though, it wasn’t like he could really help her all that much even if he did climb after her, and he _wasn’t_ a good climber by any means-

Rayla visibly tensed again, in plain preparation for something, and lunged again with the pick. This, naturally, meant she had to remove it from the bark in the first place, which meant she was no longer hanging onto the tree at all, which meant she was _falling –_ his arms shot out as a reflex as if he’d have any hope of actually catching her if she fell, but it wasn’t necessary. She got the pick into the tree again, and stopped. But given that she _had_ fallen a little….her initial upwards lunge had barely got her any further up the tree at all.

A second later, she lunged again, feet scrabbling uselessly to slow her fall until she could lodge her pick in again. She was a little further up, maybe. But only a little.

She could maybe get to the berries like that. But it would take a long time, and…and, frankly, much more effort than it was worth. “Rayla, this isn’t going to work!” he called to her from the ground. Her initial jump had been pretty impressive, so she was hanging a good five or six feet above his head right now, boots bereft of any sort of useful foothold. She was actually half-way to the fruit vine, but…most of that distance had been crossed when she jumped. Her subsequent attempts had barely elevated her at all.

He couldn’t see her face from here. But her shoulders hunched at his words.

Ez stared up anxiously from beside him. Almost timidly, he said “Rayla? I think you should come down. You’re hurting yourself.”

Callum looked sharply down at his brother, then up again, and – yeah, he was right. The way she was holding her hand, the way she’d been lunging with that hook – there was absolutely no way she _hadn’t_ jolted her hand horribly, or ended up squashing it between herself or the tree, or _hitting_ it on the tree….

“We’ll be fine without the berries?” he offered to her, in a way that he’d intended to be reassuring, but judging by the visible increase of tension in her shoulders, _wasn’t._ “C’mon, Rayla, just – come down. If you want to try again in a minute we can figure something out with some ropes? Try to lasso some of the branches, or something….”

He thought it was a pretty reasonable suggestion. There was no reason to brute-force their way through a problem when they had rope and brains. Rayla could probably throw things pretty far, so she could probably get a rope loop or _something_ fixed up higher on the tree and then just pull herself up, without any of this painful, pointless struggle.

But she didn’t come down. She didn’t even say anything. He moved to the side a little, trying in vain to see her face, and saw her fingers trembling around the handle of her pick-sword.

Then Ezran shifted beside him. The movement drew Callum’s eye, for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, and…his brother was staring upwards, expression solemn, eyes an icy-blue that seemed far too understanding. “Rayla,” he said, with that quiet gravity. “It’s okay that you can’t do it.”

She went utterly still.

For a second, he thought Ez had gotten to her. That she’d be coming down in a second, that her stillness was just a prelude to acceptance – but…

Ez _had_ gotten to her, and her stillness _was_ a prelude, but not to acceptance. In a moment of pure, vicious speed, Rayla’s whole body moved as she hurled herself upwards with a yell that was almost a scream. The pick went out and up and she tried to lodge it into the tree again – but it was too shallow. With a horrible scraping sound, it tore through the bark, and then Rayla was skidding down the tree trunk.

It happened _fast_. He barely had time to see the pick scoring a violent furrow through the peeling bark, to see Rayla bring her other hand up automatically to slow her fall – to hear her _scream_ as her skin scraped over the bark – and then she pretty much fell on top of him.

“Oof!” The noise was knocked out of him along with his breath as his legs collapsed under him, sending them both spilling onto the ground. She hadn’t fallen with enough force for it to actually hurt too much – evidently, the furrow she’d scored through the tree-bark had slowed her down enough to make a difference. Still, he thought he’d have some bruises tomorrow. But that wasn’t his main concern. He scrambled to get himself out from under her, while she did the same. “Rayla! Are you okay?”

She slumped against the base of the tree trunk, expression a little dazed, hunching in a little around the hand she was holding gingerly against her chest. There were tears glinting at the corners of her eyes, and her breathing was harsh and sharp. Her knees drew up, slowly, and her shoulders closed in even further. She didn’t respond.

Ezran was there in a second, a hand going to her knee in some reflexive offering of comfort. He flinched, though, when he touched her – or maybe when he saw her face. “You’re in pain.” He said, anxiously, and withdrew. “Should I – should I get some bark?”

She shook her head, but didn’t answer. She was hunched forwards enough now that he could hardly see her expression, but it was _really_ worrying him, how she was folding herself around her hand like that, and – and she _wasn’t speaking._ “….Can I check on your hand?” He asked her, reflexively gentle, like he was tending her wounds again. Which…he might well be.

Her shoulders shook, but she unfurled enough to very slowly extend her hand in his direction, and enough for him to see her face again. He tried not to flinch at the sight of it, utterly contorted with pain and frustration. She made some muffled sound that might have been a word, and he took her hand as carefully as he could.

The bandages on her wrist had been disturbed, pulled slightly up her wrist to expose the lurid-red sores there, as well as the binding. The one on her finger had gone askew, too. He supposed that was the consequence of tying them loosely enough to not constrict anything, but at least the existing injuries didn’t look any worse for the experience.

She’d grazed the skin of her palm a little on the tree bark, though, which he grimaced at. It was the sort of thing that’d be basically a non-issue if it was like…on a knee or elbow on a normal limb, but on her bound hand…would it be like the blister, and the sores around her wrist? Would it heal at all? Would he need to bandage her whole hand to stop the tiny grazes from getting infected?

“You’ve grazed it a little bit, but it’s okay.” He told her eventually, and would have reached over to gently get the bandages back into place, but-

She looked up, straight at him, her face screwed up into an anguish he’d never seen from her before. She choked out a horrible, bitter laugh, and repeated “ _’Okay’?”_ with such sour incredulity that he couldn’t help but flinch. And then she said it again: _“’Okay’?!”_ She wrenched her hand out of his grasp with a huff of pain, and then waved it violently at the trunk of the tree beside her. “Callum, I _can’t even climb a stupid tree!_ It’s _not_ ‘okay’!”

Ezran shuffled back from her a little, wide-eyed, as if he’d never seen her before. Callum faltered for a moment, astonished at the sudden outburst, then tentatively reached out again. “…Rayla...” he tried, only for her to cut him off again.

“ _No,_ Callum.” She said, almost accusatively, rising to her feet in a sudden burst of aggressive motion. “ _No._ It’s a _tree_ , just a tree, and I couldn’t even-” She cut herself off then, shaking her head angrily, and whirled around to face him again. He stared up at her, wide-eyed, from the base of the tree, and she stared back, and…all of that motion, all of that angry energy just…seemed to bleed out of her. Her shoulders slumped, and she looked…tired. “It’s not going to work.” She said, quieter, almost resigned, and it his heart dropped into the pit of his stomach.

Slowly, cautiously, Callum rose to his feet. “…What are you talking about?” he asked, even though he knew. He knew, but – she didn’t have to _say_ it, she _couldn’t_ say it, she _couldn’t,_ because then it would be _real-_

“It’s not going to work,” She repeated, and dread closed its fingers around his throat. She met his eyes, sad and defeated and just on the edge of despair. There were still tears in her eyes, and one of them had spilled down the side of her cheek, tracing a line there. And then she _said it-_ “There’s _nothing_ we can do for my hand and _you know it-_ “

All the air went out of him, along with a small, wounded sound. She broke off as she heard it, faltering, and somehow he managed to say something, managed to give voice to the gut-deep denial that had been running through his head for days now. “I _don’t_ know that, Rayla, and _neither do you!”_ He refuted, voice rising, and – and he could feel his breathing going again, getting short and fast and panicky, and _this was not the time for that-_

“Callum-“ She started, but he shook his head violently.

“You can’t just _give up!”_ he half-shouted it at her, the denial brimming under his skin and trembling in his fingers and stiffening his body until he almost felt _angry._ “There could – we could still find something! Something could still happen!”

She folded her arms, scowling back at him, defensiveness bristling in the lines of her shoulders. “Like _what,_ Callum?” She demanded, her voice rising to meet his. “ _Like what?_ We’re going up a _mountain!_ In the _human kingdoms,_ where there’s hardly any magic anywhere – what could we possibly find?”

Her words felt like physical blows, and it was all he could do not to stagger under them. _“I don’t know!”_ He burst out, and then – then the panicky, shaky breaths got the better of him, and he gasped on what should have been his next word. His eyes burned, near to welling with their own tears. He tried to say something, but…couldn’t.

She just…looked at him. The anger ebbed from her frame, and…she just looked at him. Sad, and resigned, and – and _he hated this,_ he really, really hated this…

“I don’t know.” He said again, the words just as hopeless and resigned as she looked.

Rayla said nothing for several long, awful seconds, then she looked away. “I…know you don’t want to hear this.” She said, quietly. “But…Callum. _Ez._ We aren’t going to get my binding off.”

His eyes flickered to his brother for a second, startled, as he remembered that he was _there_ and he _hadn’t been_ saying anything, but then- “Don’t _say_ that.” The words fell from his lips unbidden, almost indignant, as if by speaking the words she’d made them more likely to come true. His gut clenched as he tried to regulate his breathing, tried to wrest back the panic, tried to grasp at any withering vestige of hope that still existed.

It didn’t have to be true. Surely, if they didn’t _say_ it, didn’t accept it, kept _trying –_ it didn’t have to be true. She wouldn’t have to lose her hand, he wouldn’t have to – wouldn’t have to _help._

“I know you wanted to save my hand. I _know._ But it’s not going to happen.” She said to them, far too gentle, far too understanding. Why wasn’t she upset? Why wasn’t she frustrated? It was _her_ hand, so why should _she_ be comforting _them?_ It just – it wasn’t-

“It’s not fair.” Callum said, a little helplessly, to try to convey to her a little of how _not-right_ this situation was. “It’s – it’s not _fair_ for you to – it’s not-“ he broke off, upset rising in his throat to choke him, and he closed his eyes to take a deep, shaky breath.

When next he opened them, Rayla was looking at him, quiet and strangely solemn. It occurred to him, suddenly, that she might not agree. That she might still see the loss of her hand as the rightful price for sparing Ezran’s life, and not as the injustice that it truly was. But then…. “Maybe so,” She admitted, voice weary – and he thought that maybe she understood, after all. “But that doesn’t change anything. You tried, but – I never expected miracles.”

He stared down at her dark, awful hand, his eyes hooded and his heart heavy. “…I know you didn’t really think we’d find anything. But…” _I hoped you were wrong. I thought we’d prove you were wrong, and there was hope after all._

She reached out with her healthy hand to squeeze his, a quiet attempt at reassurance. “It’s okay. There’s…there isn’t anything you could do to change this. I know you wanted – but this is just…how it is. I’m going to lose my hand.” She exhaled, gustily, and he almost felt his breath go with it. He felt himself shaking a little, and felt frustrated all over again at how _wrong_ this was, how wrong it was for her to lose her hand because of her mercy, how wrong it was for _her_ to be composed and _him_ on the verge of tears- “It’s okay.” She said, again, as if by saying it twice she could make it true.

And then-

“No.” Ezran said, very quietly. Ezran who, Callum suddenly realised, had been very, very quiet through this whole conversation; he hadn’t objected, hadn’t protested, hadn’t tried to convince him or Rayla that there was still hope- “No, it’s not.”

Their eyes flicked to him at the same time. There was solemnity in the way he stared at them, but – something else, as well. Nervousness, perhaps. A hint of resolve.

Unexpectedly, he stood, a quick and abrupt motion that ended with him upright, fists balled at his sides. Callum opened his mouth to ask what he was doing, but – Ez ducked to the side, where his bag was, and slipped the egg from it within the space of a few seconds. His fingers settled over the shell with easy, practiced familiarity. His eyes slid shut, just for a second, and when he opened them, that strange and quiet determination was awake in him again.

He stared out at them, and there was such a gravity to his bearing that Callum found himself falling quiet, to…to wait, maybe. To see what he was going to say, or what he was going to do.

“I need to tell you something.” Said Ezran, the glow of the egg casting his skin in blue. “And I need you to listen.”

Callum opened his mouth, closed it, and then glanced at Rayla with a frown. She seemed no less mystified than him, but nodded, slowly. “…Alright.” She agreed, confused and wary in the same moment, and they both watched. Both waited. Ez breathed, looking strangely pale in the blue light, and stepped forwards with the egg.

“I can talk to the Dragon Prince,” He said, and – whatever Callum had been expecting, whatever scraps of an explanation he’d had for his brother’s behaviour, it had absolutely not included _that._

“ _What?_ ” He demanded, though oddly woodenly. He – hadn’t anticipated that, not at _all,_ and it was so far out of the realm of expected things that he found himself at a loss of how to respond to it.

Ez shifted a little, the gravity of his bearing faltering in the wake of his uncertainty. Suddenly, he looked like a kid again, worried and fallible and confused. “I – maybe _talk_ isn’t the right word, but it’s kind of the closest I can get? I can _feel_ him. I can talk to him. And – he can talk to me, too.”

“I…” Rayla spoke, brow furrowed, then let the words trail off, apparently at a loss for words. She seemed no more sure of how to respond to this than Callum was. It was – _beyond_ startling, to be at the height of despair over her hand, and then, suddenly…suddenly, there was _this?_ Ezran making some crazy claim about talking to a dragon egg? Callum didn’t even know what to _think,_ let alone _say._

And Ezran was _still_ talking. “It’s hard, because he’s – he’s in the shell, and sleeping most of the time, so it’s kind of like we’re trying to talk through a wall while both of us are dreaming, so it’s…it’s really not easy. But we’re getting better at it. And he’s learning things, too.” Ezran’s hand moved on the shell, just a little, as if stroking it.

Callum opened his mouth, a reflexive protest bubbling behind his lips, because – because it was _crazy,_ right? Communicating with an _unborn dragon,_ that was – that was just as unbelievable as his talking-to-animals claim, and he’d already proven _that_ one a lie, so…

Still, something stopped him. His mouth closed again, words dying behind his teeth.

Callum recalled, unbidden, the things he’d noticed about Ezran and that egg. How he spent hours and hours sitting with it – how he slipped his hands into his backpack at almost every opportunity, as though he didn’t like to be kept from its shell for too long. How he slept with it in his arms. How he’d been so strangely, uncharacteristically quiet when asked about it. “Ezran,” He said, a little helplessly, and then didn’t know how to continue. A part of him, ugly and upset, tried to say _he’s making things up again. He’s lying. There’s no way it could be true._ But…

 “His name is Azymondias,” Ezran spoke, and Callum felt his breath catch. Rayla’s eyes widened, across from him, and-

“How can you _know_ that?” Callum asked, and for all that he was a sceptic, for all that Ezran had lied about this sort of thing before – his voice came out sounding disbelieving, maybe, but…he couldn’t quite dismiss it. It should have sounded like nonsense. It should have been completely unbelievable. But…it wasn’t. “…How could _he_ know that?” he added, a second later, almost bewildered by his own credulity.

Ezran’s eyes flicked to him, for just a second, plainly nervous. “His mom used to talk to him, through the shell.” He answered, cautiously. “He remembers it. He misses her.” He shook his head, and looked up at Callum, expression now so much more tentative than it was determined. “…Do you believe me?”

For a moment, both of them were at a loss for words. “I heard you talking to it the other day.” Rayla said, after a moment, brow furrowed. “It was…strange. Like you were only saying half a conversation. And you’re saying that-“ She stopped, face contorted strangely, as if she couldn’t quite bring herself to speak such outrageous words.

“…Yeah, I was talking to him about the meat thing.” Ezran admitted, a second later, eyes straying back to the shell. “He didn’t understand it either. He’s a dragon, you know, and they eat meat, and even though he’s not hatched he _knows_ that.”

The silence hung among them for several more wordless seconds. “….That…makes sense?” Rayla attempted, eyes still wide, looking no more certain about the whole thing than she had a minute ago.

Ezran’s shoulders hunched a little as he looked at them. “…You don’t believe me?” he asked, quietly, looking as though he were bracing himself for an awful wound.

“I-“ Callum started, and exchanged a very lost-looking glance with Rayla. “I…want to believe you wouldn’t lie about something as important as this.” He settled on, finally…which wasn’t a _‘yes’,_ but was the truest response he could give right now. “And…” he trailed off. _And,_ he finished silently, _this really would explain how weird he’s been with that egg lately._ Hadn’t he _wondered,_ the other day, and even today, if dragon eggs had some kind of magical allure to them, because Ez seemed so incredibly captivated? If his brother had been silently communing with the Dragon Prince all this time….

“I wouldn’t.” Ezran agreed, immediately. “I wouldn’t _ever._ And that’s why-“ he hesitated, and looked down at the egg for a second…and then stared up at Rayla. “Rayla, yesterday – yesterday, you picked up the bag with the egg in it, and – he – he felt something. So I just-“ He stopped again, and shook his head. “I…don’t know if…it’s probably nothing. It probably – but we just want to try something. Just in case.” He looked at her, pleadingly, as if he were worried she’d veto his idea before he even spoke it.

“…’we’?” She asked, very carefully, and abruptly Callum remembered what this discussion had come on the tail-end of. They’d been talking about Rayla’s hand, and accepting the inevitable, and then…then Ezran had come out with _this?_ His mind was trying to make the connection there, but…he couldn’t quite let it click all the way. It was so – so _strange,_ unbelievable, he could hardly get his head around it.

Ez looked down. “Me and Zym.” He clarified, quiet, and glanced up again. “Just…let us try something.” She stared for a few seconds, perhaps waiting for him to elaborate, perhaps uncertain of what to say, and in the end was silent for long enough that Ezran spoke up again to say “ _Please,_ Rayla _._ ”

She exhaled, holding herself with a cautious tension that made her expression look oddly worried, and nodded. “What do you want to do?”

He shuffled forwards with the egg as soon as she spoke, eyes bright and anxious and yet-again determined. “Hold him,” he said, and reached out to offer it to her.

Rayla hesitated, and moved closer, settling onto her knees as pale fingers brushed the bottom of the egg. Very carefully, she moved her bound hand around to cradle its front, and gently lifted its weight from Ezran’s arms. The blue glow spilled over her skin, and she stared down at it in wonder. “…It’s warm.” She said, as if to herself, and her lips twitched very slightly upwards. She balanced the egg between her hands and settled it onto her lap, just as Ezran had done so often. Where her hand had been before, she’d left behind tiny smears of blood on the shell from her grazed skin. They looked oddly flat and colourless against the searing blue.

Then, closing his eyes, Ezran reached out to splay the fingers of one hand over the shell. He sighed, all at once, his shoulders slumping with a strange relief. “I was right. He _can_ feel it.” He murmured, and moved to put his other hand onto the egg as well. “You’re familiar, Rayla. He met people a lot like you, before. They were introduced to him through the shell. Two elves.”

She stared at him, shaken, and then looked down at the shell. “…My parents?” She asked, softly, and he nodded.

“I – he thinks so.” Ez said, and watching that – Callum felt an odd, swooping sensation in his gut at his brother’s words, at his brother _relaying the impressions of an unhatched dragon._ He sat, wide-eyed and silent, and watched. Listened. Tried to reconcile himself to what he was becoming increasingly sure was a new and confusing part of reality. “He’s not sure. But you feel familiar. I’ve told him about you, too.” He closed his eyes again. “…And he can feel it.” He muttered, more quietly, more to himself than to either of them.

“…He can feel _what_?” Callum asked, after a moment, when Rayla seemed too busy staring between Ezran and the egg to ask it herself.

“The binding.” His brother answered, and…they both went completely, utterly still. “He noticed something, yesterday – but he wasn’t sure. _I_ wasn’t sure. But we were right. We can-“ He stopped, sounding suddenly embarrassed. “ _He_ can feel it. There’s a lot of magic in it, and it stands out, and it’s – not right. It doesn’t belong. It shouldn’t _be there,_ and we don’t like – _he_ doesn’t like it.”

“…Ezran. Are you saying-“ Rayla hesitated, eyes wide and wary, as if she didn’t quite trust herself to finish that sentence. Callum thought he could guess why, that tenuous connection clicking into place in his mind. Ezran had only brought up this whole thing when she said there was no hope for her hand, and now apparently the Dragon Prince could _sense_ the binding somehow, and – and Ezran was talking like he thought he could _do_ something, and maybe…maybe Rayla was just as wary of false hope as he was. He barely breathed, as if by holding it he could hold the moment still, hold himself back from daring to _hope-_

“I don’t know.” Ezran answered, truthfully. “I really don’t. Zym thinks – if he was out of the shell, he thinks he could get rid of it. It wouldn’t even be hard. _His_ magic is stronger. But – he’s _not_ out of the shell, so…” He trailed off, and blinked his eyes open at the egg. He exhaled, a quick puff of air, and set his shoulders and his jaw as though bracing for something. “We’re going to try something.” He said, decisively, and squeezed his eyes shut. “Keep holding him there, okay? I don’t know how this is gonna work.”

“…Okay.” Rayla said, very faintly, and stared down at her hands and his, splayed against the eggshell.

Callum didn’t know what he was doing – what, exactly, his brother and the unhatched Dragon Prince were ‘ _trying’,_ but – they _were_ trying to do something about the binding, that was _actually_ – but, oh, what if it _didn’t work_? What if it was nothing, in the end? What if Ezran was wrong, and they were left with nothing but a dying hand and dashed hopes?

He held still, utterly silent and barely breathing, as if his slightest movement might disrupt his brother’s concentration.

It was a strange spectacle to watch. Rayla, with the egg in her lap braced with both hands, Ezran kneeling in front of her with his eyes shut and fingers tight against the eggshell, and the glow of the egg…pulsing, somewhat. An ebb and flow to the light that looked more pronounced, more _deliberate_ than anything Callum had seen from it before.

Ez muttered, from time to time, sometimes too quiet for Callum to hear. He heard “maybe if you-“ and “no, kind of, like, _there?_ Maybe?” and _“oh,_ that’s closer, I think-“ and then, suddenly, in a very focused voice, Ezran spoke clearly: “Rayla, can you move your hand so the binding is touching the egg? Yeah, that’s way better, thanks. Okay.” He exhaled again, just as determined as before, and he suddenly sounded…confident. “Okay. Let’s try this,” he said, and his face screwed up with an almost comical degree of concentration-

Blue light flashed-

Rayla _inhaled,_ short and sharp, like a gasp-

And, all at once, the light of the egg dimmed. Not completely, but the lessening of the glow was very noticeable, and very sudden. Ezran opened his eyes so quickly he looked almost like he’d been shocked awake from a dream, pale eyes blinking rapidly, and he said “Oh, wow, that was – did it-“ he leaned over, to stare at Rayla’s hand, like _she_ was staring at it, and so Callum quickly shuffled around to look as well, and-

For a second, he looked at the binding, plainly still in place, and felt disappointment drop into his gut like a stone. But then he saw how Rayla was staring, wide-eyed, how Ez took the egg back from her so she could raise her fingers to the silvery ribbon, to tug at it, just a little. It didn’t move, or come off, or anything like that, but…

“It’s looser.” She said, voice a little choked, and he saw her fingers tremble at the edge of the binding. “It’s _a lot_ looser.”

Callum let out a shaky breath at almost the same time as Ezran, and shuffled over to see for himself, and – sure enough, it wasn’t cutting so viciously into the flesh of her wrist, now. The skin was still blistering and still swollen around the ribbon, but… “It’s looser.” He echoed her, utterly dumbfounded, and reached out as if to touch it himself – he aborted the motion, hand hanging in the space between them, and had no idea what to say.

“It _worked_. At least a bit.” Ezran sighed, looking suddenly incredibly exhausted, like light had drained out of him as well as the egg. “That was…really hard, though. For both of us. And it took a lot out of Zym. We definitely can’t do that again today.”

Tentative, Rayla reached out to rest her good hand on the eggshell. “…Is he alright?” She asked, worriedly, and they all stared at the considerably-dimmer intensity of its light.

“…Yeah, just really tired.” Ez answered, after a moment, and frowned. “I think maybe it’ll help if Callum shoots lightning at him.”

“Er. Didn’t we already say _fulminis_ is kind of a strong spell?” Callum managed, still utterly dumbfounded.

“Callum, his parents used to _breathe lightning on him_.” Ezran told him. “I’m pretty sure you can’t do lightning worse than the King of the Dragons.”

He blinked. “Well, when you put it _that_ way…” He cleared his throat and wavered in place, briefly, looking between his bag and Rayla. He was oddly hesitant to leave her side, feeling intensely as though – as though this was _important,_ that something _extremely important_ had just happened, and that if he looked away from it – if he looked away from _her –_ it would somehow be undone. Like the good fortune was so fragile that it would break as soon as he turned his eyes away.

Eventually, practically forcing himself, he went to retrieve the primal stone, eyes darting between Rayla and the egg and his brother all the while, thoughts still having a hard time catching up with all the implications of the last few minutes. Yes, his little brother could somehow commune with an unborn dragon, and yes, there might actually be hope for Rayla’s hand now, and yes, he was going to be shooting lightning at an unbelievably precious dragon egg in short order…

While he was going for his bag, Ezran took the egg carefully back from Rayla and laid it delicately on the ground a good distance away, whispering something to it that Callum was too distant to hear. He returned with the primal stone after a few seconds, fingers trembling a little. He glanced to the side and saw that Rayla was touching the binding, staring at it with a strange, fragile wonder. His heart hurt a little to see how – how _wary_ she looked, as if the binding might suddenly tighten all the way again at any moment, as if this hope might be snatched from her. And, actually, now that he thought about it, _he_ was kind of worried about that, now. _Great_.

He shook off the thoughts and turned his attention to the egg, which Ezran had very sensibly backed away from. He hesitated, but only for a second, before drawing the rune and unleashing the spell “ _Fulminis-_ “ in an incandescent second of light and power. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end from the static discharge, felt the eddies of the electricity tingle over his skin – and then the spell connected. The lightning disappeared in a split-second, utterly swallowed by the egg. The egg, which was suddenly growing a great deal more brightly.

“That was _definitely_ a good idea, wow!” Ezran declared, from across the clearing, scampering over to gather up the Dragon Prince. “He’s still tired, but that _really_ helped.”

Callum’s eyes rested on the egg for a second, then went over to Rayla. Rayla who’d looked up at the spectacle, fingers still hesitant and delicate upon the binding. He cleared his throat, a little awkward, and said “So…um…do you think you’ll be able to – you know, do the thing with the binding? Again?”

Rayla went unusually still, eyes fixed on Ezran with a rather understandable tension as she waited for his answer. He blinked, hands on the eggshell, and closed his eyes briefly to – presumably – confer with the dragon. “Yeah.” He said, after a moment. “Yeah, I think we can.”

The breath that gusted out of Rayla at those words was practically explosive. He looked over, and saw her cradling her hand against her chest, head bowed and shoulders shaking a little. “Rayla?” He asked, alarmed, and hurried over to her, crouching down at her side. “Are you alright? Is something wrong with the binding?” Ez looked up at that too, worried, and hefted the egg as if preparing to run over to them.

“ _No,_ dummy.” She mumbled, with a noise that sounded like it had started life as a laugh, but came out more like an aborted gasp. “It’s not doing anything. It’s still – it’s _loose._ ” There was, he realised, a wealth of feeling in those words – disbelief, and a kind of relief that sounded almost desperate – and all at once he realised why she was shaking. He looked past the hair hanging in her face and saw her eyes looking suspiciously wet.

“…Oh.” He said, more softly, and settled himself onto the grass at her side. “That’s…yeah. That’s really something, isn’t it.” He looked at the hand she was holding so carefully against her belly, looked at the – _looser –_ binding, and the abrupt realisation hit him like a punch to the face. The binding was _looser_ now. Ezran said he – he and the _dragon_ – could _do it again._ So if it got tighter, he could fix it, and maybe with time they’d be able to make it loose enough it wasn’t hurting her at all, and they’d have _all the time in the world_ to find a way to take it off for good-

She didn’t have to lose her hand. She didn’t even have to lose any fingers. Maybe in a couple of days she wouldn’t even be hurting much anymore. Maybe – maybe it was going to be _fine,_ after all. He wouldn’t have to help her cut her hand off, he wouldn’t have to use Marla’s awful instructions about how to care for the wound left over, he wouldn’t have to disinfect and dress the stump of her wrist every day, he wouldn’t have to watch – she wouldn’t need – he _wouldn’t have to cut her hand off,_ he didn’t have to, he _really_ didn’t have to do it. She got to keep her hand and he wouldn’t have to cut it off, wouldn’t have to see how much it hurt, he wouldn’t have to – wouldn’t-

“…Are you _crying?_ ” Rayla asked, voice incredulous, and he looked up at her to find the world had gone mysteriously blurry, and so had she. He could just about discern the somewhat bewildered expression on her face.

“What? No, of course not.” He denied, even as he blinked to clear his vision and felt mysterious droplets that felt suspiciously like tears leaving his eyes and falling down his cheeks. Um.

“….You’re _crying_.” Rayla refuted, still bewildered, turning towards him and tilting her head as if to inspect his face. He blinked a few more times to look at her, finding at least one tear track on her face, too, but it didn’t look like she was likely to do much crying herself. Apparently, general astonishment at his reaction had distracted her from whatever feelings she’d been having.

“…Yeah, okay, maybe a little.” Callum admitted after a second, and raised one of his hands to wipe up tears on the back of his glove. “It’s just…you know-” He cleared his throat, suddenly embarrassed, and muttered “-I’m really glad.” more to the grass than to her. He blinked twice, exorcising another remnant tear from his eye, and chanced a glance up at her.

She was staring at him, head tilted just a little, eyes just a little wide, and wearing that same look of bewilderment – as if he’d surprised her. Then, abruptly, she huffed, a particularly warm smile breaking over her face. “You dumb human,” She said, very affectionately, and reached out to wipe the errant tear from his cheek with her thumb. He stilled, somewhat startled, and was watching her closely enough to see the precise moment she realised the intimacy of her reflexive motion; she startled slightly, and withdrew her hand a little too quickly for it to be casual. There was a hint of pink on her cheeks. “…You don’t need to cry over me.” She added, a second later, voice a little strange.

Finding himself strangely unable to look away from her face, Callum said, somewhat petulantly, “Well, it’s not like I felt _obligated._ ” She snorted, amused, and with that encouragement he continued “I didn’t exactly sit here and decide, ‘you know what, I’d better cry about Rayla’s hand, that seems smart and logical-‘”

She mock-slapped him on the shoulder, gently enough it was barely a tap, and snickered. “Alright, I get your point.” She said, humour turning her smile lopsided. A hint of warmth fluttered in his gut at the sight of it, and he found himself feeling oddly pleased. She cleared her throat after a second or two of eye-contact and looked away. A second later, oddly defensive, she asked “ _what?_ ”

“What?” he echoed, taken aback. Then he noticed she wasn’t looking at him, and turned his head to follow her gaze, finding Ezran watching them from a short distance away, hands on the egg and a smile on his face. Callum abruptly realised that they’d sort of been having a bit of a moment. Not like, a _moment_ moment, but, definitely a somewhat embarrassingly sincere emotional exchange.

And, as he was aware, Ezran was a big fan of embarrassingly sincere emotional exchanges. “It’s just really nice how much you care about each other.” He answered contentedly, and directed his happy smile at them with the force and subtlety of a sledgehammer.

“Er.” Callum expressed, face feeling oddly hot, and he carefully avoided looking back at Rayla.

“….Yes.” Rayla agreed, awkwardly, after a few moments. Then, in an extremely blatant effort to change the topic, she announced “So, now that I’m probably not going to lose my hand, I think it’s time to get going again.”

“…We _should_ be looking for a place to camp soon, right?” Callum agreed quickly, and went to find where he’d left the primal stone to pack it away.

And, just like that, a horribly stressful chapter of their lives was closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One small step for piaj, one giant leap for the slow burn.
> 
>  **Timeline:** This chapter takes place on 19.05, day 9. The kids continue to ascend, and will conclude the day at an altitude of around 1500m.
> 
> Now, for chapter notes, let’s get the big one out of the way first:
> 
>  **The Zym-Ez Machina:** this, by the way, is what I’ve been calling this in my notes for ages now. I’m delighted to finally share it with you. This solution to Rayla’s hand problems occurred to me fairly early on in the story’s development, so I’ve been able to foreshadow it a good bit. 
> 
> In piaj, Ezran has had a lot of time to spend with Zym’s egg, and has slowly learned to use his abilities to communicate with the unhatched Dragon Prince. He has been very quiet and secretive about this, because he knows that if Callum doesn’t believe him about being able to talk to animals, being able to talk to an unhatched dragon wouldn’t go over any better. You could probably find the foreshadowing in pretty much every chapter – Ezran sitting with the egg for long spans of time, quiet, reaching his hands into the bag in breaks during travel, that dream he had, the moment in ch8 where Rayla brings the binding near the egg, the bit in ch9 where he’s plainly talking to the egg…so, hopefully, this is a surprise to you as it was to Callum and Rayla, but one that works well.
> 
>  **Basic facts:** through the shell, Zym cannot completely remove the binding. He can only loosen it. He can only do this much because of Ezran working with him – without him helping, he wouldn’t be able to manage it at all. You can expect a good stretch of time with these two baby princes working together to repeatedly loosen Rayla’s binding, allowing her hand to reperfuse and avoid further lasting damage. And there has been damage.
> 
> Ezran’s empathy, and his bond with Zym, are going to get a lot of development in this story. This works well with the extended egghood of the Dragon Prince here in comparison to canon. 
> 
> Also, a note: Azymondias knowing his name because of his mother whispering it to him through the shell is semi-canon. One of the creators mentioned it in an AMA. 
> 
> **Other chapter notes:** Rayla tries to pull herself up a tree one-handed in this chapter, but fails. She does this successfully in canon, but doesn’t manage it here because (1) it’s not a matter of life-or-death to get up the tree and (2) this Rayla has had her hand bound for considerably longer than her canon equivalent, and the pain is correspondingly more debilitating. Also I guess (3) the tree in canon seems kind of slanted, so gravity isn’t as much of a pronounced bitch. 
> 
> **Canon-compliance note:** If we learn details about Rayla’s parents incompatible with them having been introduced to the egg of the Dragon Prince, this chapter will be modified.
> 
>  **Afterword:** This chapter blocked me even harder than chapter 7, I guess because it’s an important one, and I didn’t know how to bridge the early scenes with the Zym Ez Machina scene for a fair while. But it’s done now, and most of ch11 is already written. Hopefully it won’t be as long until the next update. Mind you, I’m working now, and I’ve had to cut back my daily writing quota, so it’ll be more slow going, but…yeah.
> 
> This is a really important chapter that I’ve agonised over for literally months (I started this chapter in May), so I would really appreciate it if you could leave a comment.
> 
> (s3 release date should be announced soon! Fingers crossed, everyone.)


	11. Approaching the Belt xi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Claudia and Soren contemplate weather, General Amaya becomes a folk hero, and Callum tries to wrap his head around the proceedings of a very eventful day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter warnings:** Progression of permanent damage to a limb.
> 
>  **Spoilers:** Be aware that PIAJ is not spoiler-free, and the whole story has been edited to accommodate s3 information.
> 
> Chapter contains spoilers for some s3 information pertaining to the Dragonguard and implications about Zym’s egg. More spoilers in end-notes.

Something hit him on the cheek, not far from his eye; Soren flinched, and raised a hand to feel it. A droplet of water, trailing down his skin.

He looked up at the sky, stilling his horse, and received three more raindrops to the face. “Well, isn’t that just _great._ ” He said, sourly, as Claudia stopped as well, her horse settling alongside his.

She followed his gaze, stared upwards, and took a raindrop directly to the eye. She made a surprised and vaguely alarmed snorting noise, rubbing at the eye in question, and grimaced a little. “….yyyeaaah,” She sighed, drawing the word out until it was heavy with resignation. “That’s a problem.”

“That’s rain.” Soren said, after stopping to whistle sharply to command the dogs ahead to stop.

Claudia sighed. “Yep.”

“That’s definitely rain.”

“I _noticed_ , Soren.”

He glared at her. “We’re going to _lose the trail.”_ He emphasised, as if holding her personally responsible for the unfortunate weather. He was kind of tempted to, honestly. Surely there was some sort of creepy dark magic thing she could do to mess with the weather?

She pursed her lips, and for whatever reason, looked up beyond the treeline to the looming silhouettes of the mountains. “Probably.” She admitted. “But for now, let’s follow it for as long as we can, until the dogs lose the trail.”

“And then what?” He demanded, restraining the urge to cross his arms if only because he needed at least one hand on the reins.

“And then, we go for plan B.” She said, eyes still fixed on the mountains. One of her hands fluttered over to rest on her satchel of magic-things, almost unthinkingly. “…There’s a town near here, I think. As long as the trail doesn’t go the completely wrong way, we can stop by and pick up some supplies. We’ll definitely need it.”

Soren frowned at her. “That _really_ doesn’t sound like anything good.”

Claudia made a dismissive sort of _pssh_ noise, and then spurred her horse back into a walk. “It’s nothing you’ll hate, don’t worry.”

“That’s really not-“

“Just move, Soren, until the rain completely wrecks the scent trail. Then we’ll talk about mountain-climbing.”

He blinked. Oh, right, she’d mentioned that before, hadn’t she? He shrugged, and whistled for the dogs again. Well trained and eager, they approached with tails wagging to weave between his and Claudia’s horses, eyes bright and intelligent. He smiled at them, and issued commands with a few more well-placed whistles, regretting that he was too high up on his horse to pat them. They responded quickly to the command and went on ahead to keep tracking, like the good dogs they were.

Following a trail for days on end was incredibly boring, but the dogs were definitely a bright spot. Being a Crownguard didn’t usually leave all that much time to spend with any animals other than horses, and it was usually someone else who took care of the horses at the end of the day. Not on this trip, though. He’d been brushing down and tending to both of their horses for the days of their pursuit so far, which he had found was just the thing to do to take his mind off…other things. Things Dad said he needed to do, which Soren really didn’t know if he could follow through on.

With a twinge of regret – for a second, Soren _hoped_ they’d lose the trail. The rain was almost a relief, because…well, he couldn’t be blamed for what nature did, right? If they lost the trail because of rain, and couldn’t catch up to the princes…well, dad couldn’t really hold that against him, right? …Right?

…But Claudia had her dark magic things, so…the trail wouldn’t stay lost. He wasn’t sure whether to consider that a good thing or a bad thing. He didn’t want to disappoint Dad. But…

Soren thought of _doing the right thing,_ and looked ahead, brow furrowed. The dogs were barking and sniffing, looking up to wait for the horses to catch up to them before running on again. Their mouths were open with tongues lolling around their doggy grins, utterly full of enthusiasm and cheer for the tasks ahead of them, and that did make him feel a little better.

The journey mostly sucked, and so did thinking, but at least the dogs were good.

 

\---

 

The consecration was not well-attended. How could it be, when Amaya had announced her intentions to Opeli mere hours before? Gren was there, of course, though he wouldn’t be translating for her vows – they were for Amaya and Lady Justice alone, or so said the Priestess of Paragons. And what the Priestess of Paragons said, apparently, was how things would be.

Despite the short notice, there was still something of an audience, including a number of her unit. As soon as the word had spread, as it was wont to in a city full of gossiping guards with nothing better to do, she’d accumulated an entourage of soldiers who all of a sudden needed far more input and confirmation from her than usual, all full of a barely-restrained curiosity and eagerness that they probably thought they were successfully hiding. In the end she rolled her eyes, announced the time of the ceremony, and gave leave for anyone not on duty to attend.

Viren had come, too, though Paragons only knew how he’d heard. None of the other Councillors had heard, or they’d not have missed it for the world – even if they didn’t actually care about Lady Justice one way or another, something like the consecration of a new Justiciar was significant enough that they’d probably get a lot of mileage out of it at diplomatic meetings. It probably made good political conversation material…and _Paragons wept_ , Amaya was glad that her job involved more battle and military tactics than political intrigue.

Or, well, it _had._ This consecration did, more or less, represent her taking something of a leave from her official duties as a general.

In any case, Viren _had_ found his way to the Hall of Paragons for the event, which somehow didn’t surprise her in the least. He always did seem to find a way to know of everything significant that happened within the city limits. The man had seated himself in a row behind all of the soldiers who’d arrived first, calm and cool and collected as always, and she wondered, briefly, if it rankled him to sit behind people so much lower in status than himself.

“General Amaya.” Opeli murmured to her, turning to allow her to see the words. The two of them, plus the attendants, lingered in the archway that opened from the antechamber to the main hall. “Are you ready?”

Amaya shot her a look. If she thought the Priestess would understand it, she might have said, _“If I wasn’t, after all this fussing over the ceremonial articles, I’d be very concerned.”_ Instead, she allowed the ascension of her eyebrow to do the talking, and watched the greatest religious authority in Katolis restraining a laugh.

The amusement reached Opeli’s lips, regardless, her smile slanting upwards at the edges. “Come.” She said, and beckoned her forwards. Amaya inclined her head, and moved into the light.

She wore her armour and her shield, of course, but the ceremonial adornments as well. The sword was her own, though it had been polished to a gleam, and was now carried at her side by an attendant robed fully in white, the metal shining from a cloak of navy velvet. Had she not needed her hands to make the vows, she might have carried the golden scales; instead, she was draped in a shimmering banner, royal-blue embroidered with gleaming gold, the symbol of those same scales shining in the candle-flames. Carefully, another attendant arranged the banner over her shoulder as she stopped at the podium and fell to one knee before Opeli.

The congregation was arrayed in the Hall, and rustled in a thousand metallic murmurs of armour-plating as she settled. One attendant righted the banner, the other offered her the sword; solemnly, Amaya settled it on the stone at her feet.

For a moment, she looked out at the hall – at the congregation – and felt the gravity of the moment settle on her shoulders with a hint of religious awe. She’d never been much for Paragon worship, herself, and thought that most of the commonfolk most besotted with it seemed to miss the point of the faith entirely. But, even so…the sight of the long hall lined with grand statues was undeniably impressive. Something about the whole picture of the place – morning light filtering through the mural-windows of coloured glass in the stone-hewn walls, ceremonial flames and candles lit along every foot of stone, the hushed and reverent quiet – it had a potent atmosphere. Potent enough to move even her.

The hall had been draped in Justice’s colours for the consecration. Blue and gold; almost the same shades that Amaya had been wearing already for years. If she were a more superstitious woman, she’d almost think it fateful. Instead, she turned the thought aside, and returned her attention to the Priestess of Paragons.

The attendants receded; Opeli turned to address the congregation.

Protocol dictated that Amaya ought to keep her eyes fixed on the sword at her feet. But at this angle, she had little hope of seeing anything that Opeli said, so she glanced up through her eyelashes, every so often, to see Gren signing subtly along. She caught snatches of the grandiosity, phrases like _‘pledges herself to the service of Justice’,_ and _‘as the sword is to represent the swiftness and the sharpness of a fitting verdict’,_ and Amaya assumed the symbology of the other two articles was discussed as well, but she didn’t manage to catch that.

In the end, Opeli turned back to her, and took a strip of white fabric in her hands. That was the signal she’d been waiting on: Amaya looked up, and watched her implacably as she spoke.

“You are Amaya, called the Shield, who come here today to be consecrated in the name of Lady Justice, that you might act with Her will, and speak Her truths, and mete out Her sacred justice where you find it is needed.”

Amaya’s part in this was, for the most part, marvellously redundant. It felt more sacrilegious than usual, to sit here at the podium and think the trappings of ceremony pointless, but her opinion remained: her vows seemed largely redundant when Opeli was saying it all anyway. All she did was repeat the Priestess’ words back at her, fingers careful, signing “I am Amaya, called the Shield, and I come here to be consecrated in the name of Lady Justice. I will act with her will, and speak her truths, and mete out her sacred justice where I find it needed.”

Opeli nodded, satisfied, as if she’d understood a word of it. Amaya could have been saying ‘I intend to prance around farmsteads waving this banner and clanging loudly on my shield to wake the goats’, for all she’d know.

Well. She _thought_ Opeli did have a basic vocabulary of sign, but…even so. She could hardly be understanding enough to ensure the vows were valid. It was a matter of trust, she supposed. And, really, if Opeli _couldn’t_ trust the person she was consecrating to take it seriously, she probably shouldn’t be consecrating them in the first place.

“I call on you to administer justice swiftly, when it must be done, and to neither flinch nor hesitate in your duty.” Opeli said, to evoke the Sword. “I call on you to weigh the crimes and the harm that a person may wreak against their character, their circumstance, and aught else that may drive them.” The Scales. “I call on you to blind yourself to that which drives you, and that which you think, and that which you have been raised to know, that you might judge as does Lady Justice: without bias, without discrimination, and without any sour influence that might cloud your sacred judgement.” The Blindfold, the representation of which was still held in Opeli’s hands.

Traditionally, Amaya knew, the blindfold would have already been tied around her eyes. But then she wouldn’t know when she was being spoken to, or when she was meant to speak herself. She had an inkling that she was probably the first deaf Justiciar yet. Certainly there had been amputee Justiciars – at least _one,_ since every self-respecting child in the Pentarchy had been raised with the stories of Old Heartwood and his outlandish Xadian prosthetic – but if there’d been others who were deaf, she’d not heard of them.

Opeli _had_ apologised to her, beforehand. Said she’d normally have devised a full alternative ceremony that accommodated her deafness, but that it was a little short notice. Apparently, given the symbolism writ in every detail of the consecration, there had to be careful and lengthy thought given to the crafting of a variant ceremony, and since Amaya had to leave more or less the instant this was done….well, there just wasn’t time. It wasn’t ideal, but it was enough for her. Tailored ceremony or not, she’d become a Justiciar today.

Amaya recalled, at once, just how many historical Justiciars were folk heroes, and had to restrain a grimace. If there _was_ any Justice in the world, she’d never suffer such a fate.

Amaya snapped herself back to attention at the indicative tap of Opeli’s finger, her signal to speak, and spared a moment to be glad she’d practiced this a few times to memorise it. Carefully, she shaped her fingers and prepared to repeat the Priestess’ whole spiel back at her…and paused, just for a second, to run her mind over her reservations. As much as she’d never been much of a good religious woman, Justiciars were _important._ They were _sacred._ The respect was ingrained into her bones, part of a cultural and moral heritage that went deeper than religion alone could signify. Amaya could not _,_ in good conscience, speak these final vows if she didn’t mean it.

So maybe, no matter how she liked to mock a lengthy and contrived ceremony, there was some point to it after all.

The swift administration of justice wouldn’t be a problem; Amaya had ever been talented with a broadsword. The weighing of harm…that was harder. That was the sort of thing the law officials were meant to train for – the sort of thing _Justiciars_ were meant to train for. She had a better awareness of the Law than most every other soldier in the Pentarchy, due to her rank and familial connections, but even so…she still doubted, very much, that it was a good enough substitute for the _decades_ of cross-discipline training a Justiciar-aspirant usually undertook before they were consecrated.

Still, she could mostly accept that Opeli knew better than she did. Opeli was _devout._ She _believed_ in the Paragons, in the original teachings of Paragonism – that it was the duty of every living person to embody the best of themselves, and be truest to their greatest virtues, and act as if they themselves had a Paragon within them, waiting to be named. Opeli _believed_ in the concept of Justiciars – _believed_ that Amaya could and should open herself up to become a true vessel of virtue, and act in the world as an extension of Justice herself. And if Opeli believed so strongly, who was Amaya to question it?

Except she _had_ to. Because how could she ever think herself capable of the Blindfold?

She was hunting an elf that might, or might not, have killed her _nephews._ Her boys. _Sarai’s sons._ How could she possibly approach objectivity in a matter so horrifically, viciously personal? She thought she’d be hard-pressed not to cleave the assassin in two the moment she saw her, no matter her guilt, no matter the weighing of the harm. How could she possibly stay her blade from a creature like _that?_

…Opeli trusted her as a Justiciar, which Amaya thought she had good reason to doubt. Opeli did not know her all that well, after all.

But Gren had faith in her, too, and that meant a great deal more.

She exhaled, and raised her hands to speak the vows.

She swore to wield the Sword. She swore to use the Scales as she ought. She swore, albeit falteringly, to wear the Blindfold.

Opeli reached out then and tied the ridiculous symbolic strip of fabric around her eyes. From then on, Amaya had only her expectations and her remaining senses to go on. Her heartbeat resounded steadily beneath her skin eight times before Opeli’s fingers touched her brow, cool with the wet ashes she painted there. The symbol of the Scales. She withdrew, and then for a while, there was little to go on.

She had an idea of what Opeli was saying, of course, and Gren would retell it for her later. The Priestess of Paragons accepted her vows, and declared her Justiciar until such a time as she abdicated or until she died. She was ostensibly informed that, should she ever break her sacred oaths, the title and the honour would be stripped from her, and she would never again be welcome in a house of Paragons, nor be permitted to speak in a court of law, nor have the right to sit in authority over any other soul than her own; she would be named across the kingdoms as a barren thing, honourless and forsworn, to wander in the empty and cursed and soulless way that all oathbreakers must do.

Which, she supposed, gave her some extra incentive to _not_ lose her mind at the first glimpse of an elven murderess. There were stories about oathbreakers, too – and none of them good.

The blindfold was lifted from her eyes, all the candle-flame of the hall blurring back into view. Opeli smiled, and looped the thing twice around the hand that held the sword. “Rise, Justiciar, and go forth.” She said, and stepped back, clasping a hand to her chest: respect of the Priestess of Paragons to an agent of the divine. Behind her, the congregation rose, and did likewise, heads bowed. If Amaya were the type to be easily embarrassed, it might have been mortifying. Instead, she only bowed her head in turn, and took the holy articles with her as she left, striding down the Hall.

Behind her, Gren and a few of her Battalion peeled off from the congregation, and followed. Gren caught up with her not long before they reached the doors, but didn’t speak until they were outside, stepping out of the side of the Valley that the Hall of Paragons had been excavated from.

She eyed the other end of the Valley, briefly, where her sister’s grave presided. But there was no time for that, and she turned to stride the other way.

“Congratulations.” Gren said to her, with his hands, as they walked. “How do you feel?”

She considered it. “Tired and ready to get moving.” She decided, after a moment, and rolled her eyes at the way his face fell. “I also have an uncomfortable feeling that this is going to get a song written about me.”

“Another one, you mean?” Gren inquired, with a very specific sort of innocent expression that meant he was teasing her.  “Didn’t the one near the border praise you as being an _embodiment of Valor?”_

She made a rude gesture at him. “Seems like I can’t go a year without tripping over a Paragon these days.” She said, though it felt a little sacrilegious to say it while still wearing the ceremonial pieces. “Someone will be trying to consign me to _Mercy_ next, I’m sure.”

Gren’s lips pursed as he thought. His hands moved the next moment, saying “Fortitude, I’d think. I’ve already heard people muttering about that on the long marches.”

She sighed. “Of course.” She made sure to sign it with all the weary emphasis she could, because _really._ “Better than Mercy, at any rate.”

He offered a very pointed look at the Blindfold still looped around her arm, but said nothing. Still, the lack of comment _felt_ cheeky, in that very characteristically Gren way, where he’d never so much as think of _saying_ anything impolite, but the _implication…_

Amaya shook her head at him, just a little fondly, and gestured for them to hurry up. If they were going to get moving this afternoon, it had to be soon.

 

\---

 

After what had happened – what Ezran had done – it felt utterly bizarre to set out walking again.

It was so…normal. Routine. They fell into the familiar rhythm of traversing unpleasantly steep slopes, and the increasingly-familiar menial vagaries of travel. Callum’s shoulder grew sore again from the strap digging into it, the items in his pack conspired to dig into his spine in the most uncomfortable ways possible, and his legs resumed their perpetual complaints of ill-treatment. It was unspeakably weird to keep climbing and keep walking as though everything was normal, as though nothing had changed, when – less than an hour ago – his little brother and an unhatched dragon had worked a miracle.

He kept looking at Rayla, and her hand, not quite able to make himself believe in what had _actually happened._ It was so…surreal. This morning he’d woken from nightmares, not long after that he’d been fighting off panic with what seemed like every breath, and now…

Now, they were…walking.

The bewilderment of it hadn’t quite worn off. Neither had the part of him that was coiled and anxious, waiting for disaster to strike, waiting for time to run out. He could still feel the tension of it in the pit of his gut, though so much lighter than it had been before. He kept waiting for something to go wrong. For something to change. But…

Despite everything, against all odds…it had happened. A miracle.

That thought, whenever it arose, made him stare back at his brother again, as if seeing him for the first time. It was just…Ezran. His little brother. A weird kid, true, but – who could have predicted he’d pull something like _that_ out of nowhere? Except, he supposed, it wasn’t exactly out of nowhere, he’d seen the way he’d behaved with that egg, after all.

It seemed that no matter what he looked at, he was doomed to bewilderment. There was Rayla and her miraculously-probably-saved-hand, there was Ezran and his improbable dragon-channelling talent, there was the increasingly stark and mountainous terrain that _he had ascended himself,_ so far away from home _…_

It was all so bizarre he pinched himself once or twice along the way, just to make sure it wasn’t all some crazy dream. And even that couldn’t dispel the surreality of everything.

Part of him kept wanting to stop and have another hysterical moment or ten to try to come to terms with everything that happened, but Rayla was still walking and Ezran was still walking so that meant he was walking as well, even though everything was _crazy_ and he had no idea what was going on anymore-

“Stop that.” Rayla told him, abruptly, the words such a shock in the midst of his preoccupation that he stopped and nearly tripped over a rock. Ez stopped as well, and tilted his head in their direction, curious.

“…Er, what?” He managed, after a second.

She shrugged, reaching into her pocket to extract a piece of willow bark she’d stashed there. “Whatever you’re worrying about.” She elaborated, and popped it into her mouth. “I can practically _see_ your thoughts getting all tangled up in there.” As she said the last word, she leaned in and tapped him on the forehead, a smile pulling at her lips as she drew away again. He intended to roll his eyes at her, but what actually happened was that he started staring and couldn’t quite stop until she made a face at him. “What?” She demanded, arms folding. His eyes, almost on reflex, followed the motion of her hand.

“Aren’t _you_ worrying? About…anything?” He found himself asking, a little bemused. With all that had happened – how could she _not_ be worrying about _something?_

“Like what?” Ezran asked, in her place, with a guileless frown. Rayla looked a little more understanding as she inspected him, but…yeah, neither of them seemed to be fretting like he was.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Callum started, a little sarcastic, waving his hand as though confused before gesturing it emphatically at Rayla’s, still dark, still bound. “ _That,_ maybe?”

Rayla seemed vaguely sympathetic at that, but…not worried. Ezran, on the other hand, just kept frowning. “But we loosened it.” He insisted, setting Bait down at his side as if he felt the need to have his hands free for the conversation. “Her hand’s gonna be fine now.”

“Is it, though?” Callum demanded, and then – then, perhaps unsurprisingly, all the worries that had been chasing themselves in his head came spilling out. “Are you _sure_ about that? Because it looks to _me_ like it’s still hurting her, and – don’t you remember what the Healer said? Taking the binding off might make some horrible….body-shock-thing happen!”

She grimaced at that, but hadn’t managed to open her mouth to say anything before Ez got his reply off. “But we didn’t take it off.” He pointed out, firmly, as though he thought Callum were perhaps missing something abundantly obvious that needed pointing out. “We just loosened it, like the Healer said. So she should be fine.”

“ _’She’_ is standing right here.” Rayla said, dryly, hands going to her hips. She raised an eyebrow at them as they turned to look at her again.

“…Sorry.” He offered, after a moment. “But even if the binding just loosened – it was still by kind of a lot, right? What if it _does…_ ” He waved his hands sharply, frustrated at the lack of good terminology. Increasingly, he couldn’t stop remembering the Healer’s warnings about the dangers of reviving a near-dead limb; how the experience could shock the body, and poison it, and strike at the heart to still it. He _hoped_ that, given the binding had only been loosened and not outright removed, it wouldn’t get that bad. The Healer had advised they impose their own looser binding if they managed to remove the first, and…well, that was essentially what had ended up happening, so…it should be fine, right?

But what if it _wasn’t_ fine?

“…Poison my blood?” She suggested, after a moment, moving her bound hand to look at it herself. She flexed the fingers with a slight grimace.

“I guess?” He sighed, and followed her eyes to it. She’d put on a jacket about an hour ago, evidently starting to feel the chill of their surroundings, which obscured even the bandages over the binding. “I mean…does it _feel_ any different? Better? Worse? I can _tell_ it’s still hurting you.”

“Was it the willow bark that gave it away?” Rayla said, still dry, but eyes remaining on her hand. After a moment, she shrugged, and answered “It still hurts, I suppose, but in a different way. Feels more like pins-and-needles now. Before it was just kinda….numb, and aching.”

Ezran winced in sympathy. “I _hate_ pins-and-needles.” He expressed, expression going pensive. “One time me and Bait were waiting in the grate behind the baker’s kitchen for _hours,_ because we timed it wrong and there were a load of people there, and by the time we got out there were no jelly tarts left and my feet were _completely_ numb. All the prickling was _horrible._ ”

Her lips quirked upwards, clearly amused. “Think that, but maybe ten times worse.” Rayla advised, and his brother shuddered.

Callum didn’t pay a great deal of attention to the story, being more focused on her hand. “Does your pulse feel normal?” He asked, and in an unthinking gesture, reached out to check for himself. She looked momentarily startled as his fingers settled on her skin, but held the hand out for him anyway.

“How should I know?” She asked, sounding a little exasperated as he pushed her sleeve back to investigate the binding, hesitating at the bandage. In the end, he’d grown familiar enough with where to look for her pulse that he just felt for it through the bandaging, and…well, it felt normal enough? Not too fast, not too slow, not weak or jittery or anything…

“….I think it seems okay for now.” He decreed, almost reluctantly, and stepped back again. “But you should tell me if anything changes, alright?”

She rolled her eyes. “You worrywart. I’ll be fine.” She pronounced him, with an oddly fond smile, and then walked off up along the path again without so much as a by-your-leave.

Callum sighed, patted Ez on the shoulder, and followed after her.

 

\---

 

The walking today was depressingly steep. It was almost entirely uphill, and the ongoing ascent was starting to wear strangely at the heels of his feet. They were growing sore, in a sort of abrasive way that he thought heralded blisters. His boots were broken-in enough by now that it had been a _long_ time since he had any blisters, but apparently, enough mountain-hiking was perfectly capable of changing that. He wondered, uneasily, if he’d need to start padding his heels to stop them blistering too badly. It wasn’t as though he’d be able to _stop_ climbing  mountains any time soon, after all.

Rayla did not find a campsite she liked in the next hour, so he just…walked, and watched, and reflected on how much a single day could change everything.

Only a few hours ago, he’d been crying with relief. They’d all cried and laughed and shook like leaves from the awful, wonderful, horrible catharsis of what had happened. He _still_ felt a little fragile – strange and tremulous, like his emotions weren’t quite up to any more hits or surprises, and he might have a breakdown at the first hint of trouble. It was unpleasantly exhausting, how wrung-out the experience had left him, as though all the mounting stress and dread he’d been cultivating had torn its way straight out of his gut, leaving the space behind empty and terribly raw.

He’d never imagined that something so fortunate – so miraculous _–_ could leave him feeling so drained.

And, despite that, despite what had happened, despite everything…they were just…walking.

It wasn’t like they could _stop_ , what with how far they had to go, and the lack of a suitable campsite, and the risk of ambush that Rayla insisted existed. According to her, those hunters they’d tied up ought to be able to get free and get to Verdorn within the day, and then they could mount some sort of pursuit force. So there was definite pressure to keep moving, but…still. It hadn’t stopped feeling strange.

Rayla chewed willow-bark more or less continually as they walked, and carefully pressed at her still-bound hand even though it made her grimace awfully. She avoided the raw bandaged area around the bind, but…even with the thing loosened, it obviously wasn’t going to be an instant fix. Her skin still looked dark, albeit not quite as much so, and she was obviously still in pain. Evidently though, it was better enough that the jacket she’d put on earlier wasn’t bothering her too much.

It was strange to see her in a jacket basically identical to his. Strange enough to distract him from worrying for a good few minutes, but certainly no longer.

He stewed over his concerns in silence, unable to stop and yet not wanting to bother her too often with queries about her health. In time, though, with something approaching mercy, the actual walking became tricky enough that it commanded a lot of his attention, and he couldn’t afford to dwell too much. The way ahead became more and more precipitously steep, and much more rocky; the incline seemed to be too much for most trees, and all at once the forest thinned noticeably. The trees that remained were pale shadows of the vast things in the forest below, with thin trunks and comparatively short statures…but, evidently, very stubborn roots. Some of them clung to the cliff-edges at frankly alarming angles, looking like they’d fall off at any moment.

They kicked up clouds of stone-chips as they walked, sending tiny dusty avalanches clattering down-slope. Without the thick carpet of years’ worth of pine needles, the ground was silt and gravel, and dangerously loose. He slipped a few times before he got the hang of looking for firmer, rockier foot-holds, and several times had to clamber up the steeper areas with his hands holding onto the rock for support. Ezran, with his smaller stature, needed help up the steeper sections frequently – and he’d had to hand Bait over to Callum entirely. The glow-toad was riding haphazardly stuffed into the top of Callum’s backpack, because there was no room for him in Ezran’s.

Rayla called for a break after one particularly unpleasant stretch that was basically rock-climbing rather than walking, and they collapsed gladly against some nearby boulders.

“Is it going to be this steep all the way up?” Ezran asked, a little plaintively, as he caught his breath. He seemed to be holding up better under the strain of the climb than Callum, because Callum couldn’t quite conceive of the idea of talking yet. He was too busy with things like breathing, and contemplating how unnaturally comfortable boulders became when one was exhausted enough.

Rayla, who had crouched near them but not deigned to sit down, peered up the slope and shrugged. “Hard to say. I’ve not gone through these mountains before.” She said, grimacing as she pressed her fingers into the palm of her hand, the skin going white in their wake. “But…probably, yep.”

Ezran groaned, and Callum would have done the same, had Rayla’s hand not distracted him. He blinked at her, decided it had probably been long enough since the last time he asked, and after a few seconds mustered the energy to ask “How’s your hand doing?”

She glanced over at him, then back down at her hand. She grimaced a little, then rolled the sleeve of her jacket up to show him her arm. He made a dismayed sound at the same time she exhaled, leaning forwards as she said “Well, my whole arm is sore now.” She made a face at the arm in question, and he could see why. “I didn’t expect to be able to _see_ it though.”

There were raised pink lines along her skin, taking routes that looked like the pathways of veins. Pathways of inflammation, travelling with her blood. “Why didn’t you _say_ something?” he asked, dismayed, and touched his fingertips to the skin to gauge the temperature. Was it warmer than it ought to be? He couldn’t tell.

“It’s not exactly agonising, Callum.” Rayla told him, dryly. “It’s just a little sore, like I worked the muscles too hard. Anyway, I’m assuming it’s normal.”

“ _Normal.”_ Callum repeated, deeply sceptical.

“As normal as something like this gets. Lots of nasty in this hand, right? And now it’s…circulating.” She shrugged, as though unbothered, but he thought he could see the hint of tension around her eyes.

“Isn’t that bad?” Ez asked, anxiously, as he shuffled over to look. “Didn’t the Healer say that that’s super risky?”

“From what I eavesdropped on, she thought it would help if it’s done slow and careful. And my hand’s still bound, so…probably counts.” She shrugged, trying for nonchalance, but he could see the tightness around her eyes. She was worried, too.

He inspected her, attempting not to be too outwardly anxious, and then reached out to take her healthy hand before he’d quite thought it through. He settled his fingers over her pulse to feel it, and asked “Does your pulse feel weird? Do you have any…I dunno, weird aches that aren’t in your arm?” Her pulse…well, he wasn’t exactly an experienced and knowledgeable pulse-taker, but he thought it felt a bit strange. Too fast, too light, and jittery. Oddly irregular.

She grimaced, and he saw a little of her fear slip through into her expression. “…Does feel a bit weird.” She admitted, quietly. “Hard to describe, though. Jumpy, maybe?” She shrugged, plainly uneasy. “So far it’s only my arm that hurts, though.”

Callum clamped down on his anxiety as best he could, holding silent for several seconds, and then released her wrist. “If your heartbeat feels off, I think you need to be careful to take it easy.” He said, eventually. “Don’t let yourself get too out of breath. Take lots of breaks.”

“…Sure.” She said, unconvincingly, and he glared at her. Crossed his arms, even.

“I know you don’t want to waste time.” He told her, with a little asperity. “But if you push yourself too hard while you’re sick and you have a _heart attack –_ I don’t know about you, but I _don’t know the heart-starting spell._ ”

She straightened a little at that, and while she did glare back at him a little, he thought something in his words had struck her. “…I did sort of guess that, Callum.” She said, dryly, and rotated her dark wrist a few times, careful.

He did not unfold his arms, and stared at her expectantly. “So….?”

She rolled her eyes, and pushed away from the rock she was leaning against. “Ugh. Fine. I’ll go easier on myself. Happy?”

“Ecstatic.” He answered, in tones just as dry as hers. She rolled her eyes again, standing with enough abruptness that it seemed a dismissal.

“Good.” She said, hefting her bags. “Because it’s time to keep going. Still a long way to go today.”

“You’re not exactly filling me with confidence, here.” He complained, hauling himself upwards with considerable effort. His every muscle protested the move – and so did Bait, who apparently wasn’t impressed with the sudden jostling.

“I’ll be fine, Callum.” Rayla insisted, and then stubbornly walked off back up the mountain again. Evidently, that was the end of that. He stared after her, unimpressed and worried at the same time, and huffed with the annoyance of trying to care for the health of someone so unnecessarily _stubborn_ about it. You’d think an elf assassin who knew all the stuff she knew would be a _little_ more practical about her own health, but, apparently…not so much.

He sighed, and held out a hand to his brother. “C’mon, Ez. Seems like we’re moving again.” He said this last part more loudly, and pointedly – a deliberate prod against the elf he knew could hear him perfectly well.

Ezran looked between him and Rayla with a vaguely wide-eyed expression somewhere between interest and concern. Then he shrugged, accepted Callum’s offered hand, and got to his feet. “I guess we just have to keep an eye on her.” He said, apparently unconcerned about being overheard. “So she doesn’t work herself too hard.”

A little playfully, Callum shook his brother’s hand on that before he released it, eliciting a giggle. “Sounds good to me.” He agreed. “Now, let’s get moving, before she leaves us behind.”

He wasn’t sure if the huff he heard was Rayla or the wind, but he was putting his money on the former.

Their resumed climb took them further and further into the thin cold air of the mountain, with trees becoming so sparse that there was little to no cover from the gusty mountainside conditions at all. In the morning, when they began walking and left the tied-up hunters behind them, Ezran had been delighted by the white puffs his breath made in the cold air, and had stomped around puffing in imitation of dragons, bringing a smile even to the then-despairing Rayla. He’d since obviously lost the novelty of it, but now…now it was windy enough that the gusts blew back the haze of their breath in their faces, trails of white vapour spilling out around their cheeks.

He wasn’t sure if windiness was just characteristic of mountains, or if this was worse than normal. Either way, it was getting unpleasant. In the end, he just tucked the tail of his scarf in so it wouldn’t flap around quite as insistently, and carried on.

If Rayla took things any easier, he couldn’t see any obvious signs of it. But, in unspoken alliance, he and Ezran conspired to be conspicuously and insistently exhausted after every particularly steep stretch of climbing, collapsing where they stood and calling for a breather and a drink from the waterskins. If the way Rayla eyed them was any indication, she was more than aware of the subterfuge, but she didn’t outright speak against them. She only sighed, very put-upon, and prevailed upon her own use of the waterskin before ushering them onwards.

Mid-afternoon, they started to see snow on the ground.

“Told you.” Rayla said, a little cynically, as Ezran bent to examine the scattered frosty patches of it. “Give it another day and we’ll be hip-deep in it.”

“ _Hip-deep?_ ” Callum repeated, sceptically, while Ez picked up the evidently very icy bit of snow. It looked like it had melted from the gentle powder he was accustomed to, and then probably frozen again, forming larger icy clusters that crackled under his brother’s fingers in a weak echo of broken glass.

Her lips twitched. “Well. Shin-deep, maybe.” She admitted, and looked up at the sky. “’Course, all it would take is a decent snowstorm, and then we _could_ be hip-deep in snow.”

“That must be a pain to walk in.” Ezran said, thoughtfully, as he looked up at her. “You could have some _great_ snowball fights, though! And then maybe once we’re going back down a mountain, we could just sled instead. It would be _way_ faster.”

“Sorry to say it, bud, but I’m pretty sure Rayla didn’t bring a sled from the Lodge.” He said, amused, and then followed Rayla’s gaze to the thickly-clouded sky. As if responding to his attention, a particularly stiff breeze puffed down his collar, and he shivered, tightening his scarf against the wind. “I guess it’s going to be colder from here on.”

“It won’t be so bad as long as we’re walking.” Rayla claimed, and hefted her backpack; the usual signal that they were about to start moving again. “And when we’re _not_ moving, we’ll have a campfire, so…” She shrugged, and without further word, resumed her pace up the slope.

Callum and his legs took comfort in the knowledge that they’d almost certainly start looking for somewhere to camp soon, and followed her up.

They walked another good half-hour in the increasingly-moody winds before the ground evened out a bit, still sloping upwards, but much more gently. The trees apparently approved of this milder incline, and they found themselves travelling through a spindly pine-forest full of windswept branches; it was apparently windy enough _frequently_ enough that the trees were all growing slanted westwards, apparently from the buffeting of the same powerful easterly wind currently blowing in his ears.

Eventually, they came to a loosely-forested cliffside where the rockiness of the terrain had denuded most of it of foliage. It sloped gently downwards towards the face of the cliff, at enough of an angle that he’d be worried about losing the egg over it if it fell out – it’d probably roll straight down and off the cliff. He winced at the intrusion of the thought, even as he looked to Rayla, perplexed at why they’d stopped. She was staring at the rocky expanse as if its modest dusting of frost and snow were particularly vexing, or particularly noteworthy.

“…We should probably camp here.” She said, with noticeable distaste.

He blinked, then stared back at the cliffside. “What, really? But it’s…” He searched for a word.

“Windy.” Ezran supplied, from beside him, his hair looking vaguely windblown in the same way as the trees. “And right next to a cliff.”

“Right next to a cliff is defensible.” Rayla informed them, though she did not look pleased. “Means if someone wants to ambush us they don’t have as many places to do it from. Anyway,” She gestured at the nearby trees. “This’ll be the easiest firewood around. If we keep climbing it’ll get steep again, and we won’t have much to pick from.” She frowned, ears drooping a little. “Just….don’t lose anything off the cliff-edge. Especially yourselves.”

Callum recalled the thought he’d had, and shuddered. “…Be careful with the egg.” He advised his brother, who practically recoiled at the words, flinching as if struck in the face.

“…I will.” He said, wide-eyed, with another glance towards the cliff.

Tentatively, Callum approached it, and peered over the edge. It was…a long way down. Not as far as he’d expected, maybe, and it wasn’t an entirely sheer drop – it was more like a near-vertical slope than an outright drop-off – but he didn’t expect the fall would be that much more gentle for it. There were trees at the bottom, and a little further along, a wide river. Beyond that there was another cliff face, rising up to join with the mountain behind it. He thought he could see a silver glimmer of water somewhere between the trees at the bottom. “…I think this is the gorge.” He said, after a moment. “You know, the river valley between Dorel and Farel. That the people of Verdorn use.”

“Makes sense.” Rayla said, setting down her bags against a snow-dusted rock. “Bit worrying, though. I hope no one spots the campfire.”

“If they do…” He frowned, paused, and thought through it. “Well, if they _do_ , won’t they only be able to see it from Verdorn? Or the other mountain? So it probably won’t matter. It’d take them ages to get here from there.”

“Hopefully.” She sighed, and unzipped the tent pack. The wind billowed into it, puffing out the sides of the leather with a rhythmic sort of _thwip_ sound. “ _Okay._ This is going to be a pain.”

Ezran looked between her and the tent, quizzically. “…How come?” He asked, trotting over to put his bag (very carefully) down beside hers.

“Because of your hand?” Callum guessed, after a second.

“Me and Callum can put it up, like yesterday.” Ez added, expression bright, and she snorted.

“No, it’s not that.” She said, lips twitching. “Though my hand – and arm – being a pain…that’s not going to help. No, it’s the wind.” She waved her hand towards the spindly, wind-swept trees, as if to indicate the very pronounced gusts still buffeting them from that direction. “We’re _all_ going to need to do this, or the tent will blow off the mountain.”

“…Oh.” Ezran considered this for a second. “I guess we’re using all the tent pegs today, right?”

“You bet.” Rayla agreed, and carefully extracted the outer-tent, promptly stamping her foot down on it to pin it to the ground. It was already ruffling and blustering along the ground, even rolled and folded and barely able to catch the wind at all. “Get the poles ready, will you? And maybe tie yourselves together with rope or something. Make it easier to catch each other if we go off the cliff.”

“Isn’t that a bit much?” Callum asked, sceptically, as he swung his bag around. Despite his words, he went rummaging for his rope coil, even as Ezran extracted one of the poles and began to assemble it.

Rayla raised an eyebrow at him. “Would you prefer to take a little tumble off the cliff, Callum?” She inquired, sardonic, and he huffed.

“…No, thank you.”

She nodded. “Then let’s just be careful.”

Ezran clicked the tent pole into place and reached for another. “Better safe than sorry.” He said, sagely, as Callum tied the rope uncertainly around his middle. Watching him, Rayla rolled her eyes, and shuffled over to take the rope from him.

“You need to learn to tie better knots.” She informed him, unceremoniously unravelling his apparently-inadequate attempt. She then proceeded to loop more rope around his middle, running it in and around in a looping knot that was considerably distinct from his own.

His eyes moved between her and her hands. He’d never really considered that there might be a lot of ways to tie a rope around someone, or that one would be better than another. He watched her setting _both_ hands to the task, and wondered if it was hurting her. “…Well, I’ll practice that one later?” he offered, watching her progress with an eye for memorising it. She stepped back and pulled the length of rope with her, stamping down on the outer-tent that had begun to flutter rebelliously about in her absence.

“You do that.” She said, and approached Ezran. “Here, Ez. Don’t mind me, I’ll just tie you in.”

“Sure.” He said, agreeably, already at work on the third tent-pole.  

In short order they were all tied together and had the tent-poles assembled and ready to apply to the tent. Callum still considered the rope to be flagrant overkill – sure, it was windy, but not _that_ windy. It wasn’t like it was a struggle to stand upright or anything, so it wouldn’t be _that_ bad, surely? So, when Rayla called for him to get a good grip on the tent with her while Ezran would have the duty of putting the poles in, he was perhaps _not_ taking it all that seriously. He held on as directed, of course, and Rayla unfolded the tent fabric, and Ezran stood by with a tent-pole at the ready-

And then the wind billowed into the tent as if into a sail, and suddenly, he was struggling to stay on his feet.

“Holy-“ he yelped, as Rayla grimly dug her heels in and yanked back on the tent as it _filled with air,_ puffing out as if fully-boned with the tent-poles and making a valiant attempt to wrest itself from their hands. The sound of the air rushing into it was a loud and enthusiastic _whomp_ , and thereafter it billowed and flapped and rattled as it pulled at them, the force of the wind throughout it alarmingly strong. “This is _crazy!”_

“Told you!” Rayla called to him, wrestling the tent to the ground. It puffed around her, flapping rebelliously, and a sudden wind-gust nearly tore it from his hands. With a noise that was almost a snarl, Rayla hooked herself into the ground of the cliffside with her blade, wrapping a storm-line around her arm. “Ezran!” She reminded, a moment later, and his brother snapped from his stunned daze.

“Right!” Was all Ez had to say, as he attempted to flatten down a section of tent enough to get the pole into it.

He’d managed to get two poles in and had started on the third when the wind shrieked in from the east, blasting into the tent and yanking Callum along with it – with enough force that it sent him sprawling against the ground, the thick fabric ripped from his hands. His teeth clacked together around the shape of a yell as he hit the ground, with a pinch of pain at the edge of his tongue. He lay there, utterly dazed, for a timeless second filled with thoughts of sails catching the wind and the tent becoming a vast kite to carry them all away…

“Callum!” Rayla shouted, and when he looked over she was busy battling the tent to the ground with nothing but her hook and the storm-lines as leverage. Even so, she managed to spare enough attention to look over at him with urgent concern.

Ezran stood, craning his head to look past the flapping tent to see him. “Are you okay?” He called, anxiously, the third tent pole braced between his hands.

His mouth tasted like blood, and there were sharp scraping pains along the skin on various parts of his hands and arms, but…. “I’m fine.” He called back, a little hoarsely, and scrambled to his feet, head still wiped oddly blank by the shock of the impact. “I’ll just-“ He grabbed at a roiling corner of the tent-fabric and emulated Rayla, unspooling one of the tied storm-lines and looping it around his arm. It definitely made it easier to get a grip on the thing, but keeping himself upright was _hard._ And now that there were two poles in the tent, the damned things were nearly poking his eyes out every other second. “Just, get the poles in already!”

“I’m trying!” Ezran said, plainly agitated, as he tried to grasp at the relevant bit of tent for long enough to stick a pole in it. “Can you – hold this part down, or something? It’s really hard to get at it!”

Rayla responded to his request by practically throwing herself over the tent and tackling the piece in question to the ground. Amazingly, it was so full of the prevailing wind that it actually bucked and roiled underneath her. It was utterly ridiculous. Why did no one ever _mention_ that tents could turn into stupidly deadly wind-socks under the right conditions?

The effort was enough, apparently; Ezran pushed the segmented metal pole into its tube and in that fashion the three of them worked, pinning the tent down in the right places for the last pole to be applied. Rayla then determinedly oriented the tent-door _away_ from the wind, and then rooted herself and the storm-lines to the ground while Callum and Ezran made several desperate and largely unsuccessful attempts to pitch the stupid thing.

It took enough tries that his fingertips were sore with the effort of trying to pull the ends of the tent-poles into their proper places, but – they managed it eventually, and then Rayla was rotating the tent-door into a more favourable position while Ezran scrambled for the tent pegs, and they were basically done. They whacked in the pegs into the hooks on the tent proper – all twelve – and then laid out the storm-lines around the tent and secured those down too. Rayla enlisted the end of a blade as a hammer to knock the pegs solidly into the hard ground, while Callum and Ezran prevailed upon the use of large rocks for the same purpose.

“Ugh. Stupid wind.” Rayla muttered darkly, when they were done, and beholding the sight of their securely tied-down tent with exhausted eyes and aching bodies. “I _hate_ putting up tents in bad wind.”

“….You’ve done it before?” Callum managed to ask, after several seconds of attempting to muster the energy. He looked at his hands and found the fingertips red and raw. He could feel scrapes along his arms and elbows from the fall, which his jacket hadn’t managed to protect him from. The fabric looked a little frayed from it, too.

The tent still flapped in the wind, but…ineffectually. Like a fish pinned on a knife. The sides fluttered noisily in the wind and the storm-lines quivered, but they’d done a solid job of it. That tent was not moving. Even so, Rayla seemed to find it a good idea to move around its perimeter, covering the heads of the tent-pegs with piled rocks. “A few times.” She answered, after a moment. “’Course, I had a whole team helping with holding the tents down then. Made it a lot easier.”

He nodded, a little numbly, and raised an aching hand to rub at his ears. The wind had been blowing in them for hours now, and combined with the fall, they were _really_ aching, in a cold-feeling pain that was steadily spreading to the rest of his head. “…Inner-tent?” he questioned, flapping a hand a little ineffectually at the tent-pack, open and fluttering ominously in the ongoing gusts.

“Inner-tent,” Rayla agreed, and the three of them wrestled that part into the tent’s interior. This, at least, they could keep folded until they were inside, and out of the worst of the wind.

Setting up camp that afternoon continued to prove an exercise in problem-solving, when the wind promptly extinguished their first three attempts at a campfire and nearly set fire to the tent on the fourth. Eventually they moved it to a spot uncomfortably close to one of the trees, risking setting fire to _that_ for the chance of some meagre shelter. It worked, finally, and Rayla set them to work melting snow to replenish their waterskins.

“Easier than looking for a water source.” She said, shrugging, pulling on some gloves to go scoop up more snow. “That’s one good thing about snow and ice, I suppose. If we’re unlucky, the nearest stream could be a good hour away, so….” She dumped the latest handful of icy snow into the pot and then waved towards it, demonstratively. The little-finger glove flapped around with the movement, plainly empty.

“Huh.” Callum said, committing the detail to his growing knowledge on journeying, and went to aid in the snow-gathering efforts.

The downside of having the campfire upwind of the camp meant that a large part of the campsite couldn’t really be traversed unless he wanted a lungful of smoke, which was yet another lesson he hadn’t really asked for and certainly hadn’t enjoyed, but it was probably helpful knowledge. Somehow. Once most of the camp-stuff was attended to, though, Callum started giving Rayla’s hand some pointed and meaningful looks until she rolled her eyes and came over to let him inspect it.

She rolled the jacket sleeve up again, and then he had a pretty good amount of arm to inspect for anomalous swelling. He eyed the places where, earlier, there’d been raised red lines along the veins and noted “I think your whole arm has just swollen up a bit, now.” Gently, he poked it. “Does that hurt?”

She grimaced, but shook her head. “Not when you put pressure on it? Not like a bruise.” She offered. “But it sort of…aches. Kinda. On its own. A bit like an overworked muscle.”

Callum’s own overworked muscles took that moment to remind him of how sore they were, and he shuffled his crossed legs uncomfortably. He shifted his hands more gently down the affected arm to where the binding still sat, albeit blessedly looser. “How’s the hand feel?” He asked, after a moment, reaching to the side to pull his medical supplies over, complete with the boiled bandages. “Any better?”

“Bit less painful.” She said, after a moment of consideration. “Still really bad around the binding…but not much helping that, what with the open sores and all.”

Ez side-eyed her then, glancing down at his bag and then back at her hand. “…Does the binding still feel loose?” He asked, after a moment. “I’m pretty sure me and Zym can do our thing again, but…I don’t really know how it’s gonna work. If your assassiny-ribbon is going to get tighter again or not.”

She was silent for several seconds, eyes straying back to the bandage obscuring the binding. “I can’t really tell.” She said, eventually. “Directly around the binding is mostly just…well, you know.” By ‘you know’, he assumed she meant ‘so sore and wrecked I can’t actually feel much from it except pain’. Like, he knew she wouldn’t actually _say_ that, but the meaning seemed relatively clear.

“If it’s still doing the pins-and-needles, it’s probably still looser. Maybe?” Callum reasoned, fingers hovering over the knots on the bandages. Considering he’d only changed them a few hours ago, it seemed maybe too early to do it again, but… “And I think you’ve got a little bit of colour back in your hand. And definitely your wrist.” He touched his fingertips to the skin. It still felt cold; if there’d been much change there, he couldn’t really feel it yet. For a second, he near-reflexively went to look for her pulse – but on this hand, that was solidly obscured by bandage.

He set her hand down and went for the other one instead, pressing fingers over the radial artery. She looked down at it, then up at him, and asked “How is it?”

“Better than earlier.” He said, with some relief. “Your arm might be all swollen but at least your heartbeat feels less…weird.”

However unconcerned she tried to pretend to seem, he could _see_ that that relieved her. “Well, thank the stars for that.” She sighed, then shifted back, retrieving her arm from his grasp. She stood and shuffled over to rummage in the bags, pulling out several containers still packed with goose meat. “Let’s get dinner out of the way now, and then we can actually rest a little.” She sounded almost wistful at that. He could sympathise entirely – even their downtime, lately, had been rather fraught.

“Sounds good.” Callum said, thinking briefly of his sketchbook, and the nascent sketch of Verdorn sprawling across a page. He thought, too, of the neglected sketch of Rayla’s hand, symbolic of the dread that had been gripping him so strongly the last few days. He wondered what it would be like, to look at it now.

“Are we going to heat it up?” Ez wondered, as Rayla unpacked their provisions. “Or just eat it cold again?”

Rayla shrugged. “Whatever you prefer, I suppose.” She said. “Though it _is_ harder to heat up leftovers with the sort of equipment we have. If we boil it it’ll lose flavour, and it’s tricky to pike cooked meat sometimes.”

“I’ll just have mine cold.” Callum said, abruptly really _feeling_ his exhaustion, and accepted a jar from Rayla with a sigh. “I don’t really want to wait.”

Ezran considered that. “I’ll do the same, then.” He decided, and took his own jar, making a slight face at it. Bait, sensing the entrance of food into the proceedings, immediately perked up from where he’d been sitting near the fire, and hopped up to Ezran with a demanding croak. Ez looked down at him, a smile chasing its way onto his face, and proffered a chunk of cooked meat at the toad. “I know it’s not exactly your usual,” He said, to the toad, as he knelt down to bring his hand closer. “But you’re okay with that, right?”

Callum, watching, noted that Ezran nodded as if in response to something _before_ Bait shot out his tongue to accept the offering. It made him feel distinctly weird, in an on-the-edge-of-realising-something sort of way. He recalled the way Ezran had been talking to the _egg,_ and uneasily considered that…well, Bait was a magical creature too. Did Ezran’s talent extend beyond talking to unhatched dragons?

…And, if it did, how far did it go?

…Could Ez really talk to animals, like he’d been saying for so long? …But then, if he could, why would he have got it wrong when Callum asked him to _prove_ it?

He shifted uneasily for a while before he finally elected to just _ask._ “…So, Ez,” He said, slowly, in apparently a strange enough tone that his brother looked up warily. “This whole…talking to the dragon egg thing. Is that…” he hesitated. “Where did that _come_ from? How long – I mean, was it something you realised you could do straight away, or…” He trailed off, not wanting to quite come out and _say ‘have you been telling the truth this whole time?’_

Ezran stilled, for a second, and then abruptly looked mulish. His shoulders hunched a little and he looked away. “It’s not exactly a new thing, you know.” He muttered, setting the jar down to fold his arms. “I’ve been talking to Bait for _years_. It’s not my fault you never believed me until it was a _dragon_ I was talking to.”

His hands fluttered up in a sort of unhappy defensive motion, and his stomach twisted. It was a fairly bald confirmation of his uneasy suspicions, and…and he wasn’t really sure how to respond to it. Even with the evidence in front of him, and with what Ezran had managed with Rayla’s binding….somehow, it was still hard to wrap his head around the idea of _this_ being true, too. He’d thought Ezran a liar on this for _years,_ after all. For several seconds he struggled to find something to say, until Rayla took the matter out of his hands.

“Hold on,” She said, straightening, and looking between them with a raised eyebrow. “What are you on about, Ez? You can talk to _Bait_ too?” Then, at Callum: “And you _knew_ _about this_?”

“Not just Bait.” Ezran refuted, before Callum could speak. “It’s just animals. All animals. I’ve been able to understand them for most of my life, and been able to make them understand _me_ for _years –_ and I _tried_ to tell Callum about it but he never believed me.” A hint of his temper leaked into those last words, the line between his furrowed brows deepening.

Rayla’s eyes slid to Callum then, expectantly, as if waiting for an explanation. His shoulders hunched and he hastened to say “But…Ez, if you really _could_ understand animals, how come you got it wrong that time I asked you to prove it? Why would you have been _wrong?_ ”

“Because raccoons are huge liars, Callum.” Ezran said, impatiently, with a light scowl furrowing his brow. “I _told_ you that, too. I didn’t know it back then, but raccoons are always playing tricks and they’ll _never_ tell you the truth if they can get away with tricking you – and I wasn’t good enough to _tell_ when they were lying back then, either, so…” He shrugged, and made a sort of _there-you-go_ gesture with his hand.

“…So, they told you there was a treasure behind the waterfall when there wasn’t, and I ended up getting soaked for nothing?” Callum supplied, and his brother nodded. He looked away, frowning lightly, and….yeah, he thought he remembered that. Ezran trying to tell him about the alleged dishonesty of raccoons. After the waterfall incident, it had seemed a pretty blatant lie, and he hadn’t even _considered_ the idea that it might be true. And then after that he’d got pretty used to dismissing Ezran’s subsequent claims to animal-talking as play-pretend kid stuff.

“Yeah, pretty much.” He agreed, expression a little less ornery now. Perhaps because Callum was listening to him without immediately denying everything? “So after that you just…wouldn’t believe me, because I’d been wrong, so I gave up on trying.” Carefully, his fingers drifted to his bag, and the egg within. “But…then me and Zym knew we were Rayla’s last hope. So we _had_ to try.” A little solemn, he slipped the bag open enough to put his hands in, fingers settling over the egg. His eyes closed, just briefly, and Callum experienced a little rush of vertigo at _knowing_ that his brother was communicating with a baby dragon _right now._

“…I’m glad you did.” Rayla said, eventually, her fingers hovering over her left wrist, and the binding there. “I’d…well, I never really had much hope about it all even to begin with, but I was pretty ready to give up.” She reached out, and settled her hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, Ezran.”

He looked up at her over his shoulder with a small, shy smile. “…Well, it’s not like I did all the work.” He said, posture unfurling a little at her praise. “But, um, you’re welcome. I’m _really_ glad we could help.”

Rayla blinked at him for a second, then slowly reached out with her bound hand to touch her fingertips to the eggshell. The motion was…careful, and tentative. Almost reverent. “Thank you, Azymondias.” She murmured to the egg, and Ezran smiled more widely beside her.

“He’s happy he could help, too.” He said, contentedly. “He’s still pretty tired now. But I think maybe we can try to work on your binding again tomorrow.”

Her lips twitched into a smile of her own. “I’ll look forward to it.” She said, and withdrew, leaning back from Ezran and the egg for a second, regarding them with a strange expression. “You’re a talented kid, Ezran.” She expressed after a second. “I’ve never even heard of someone being able to talk to animals before. Not even the greatest elven mages.”

Callum looked between his brother, who seemed very pleased at that statement, and Rayla, who had professed to his brother’s ability being something unheard of even in _Xadia._ He shook his head, disbelievingly, and said “It’s…it’s _crazy,_ Ez, that you were walking around with this amazing weird power all this time and I didn’t even _know._ ”

Ezran looked over at him, and his expression closed off again, just a little. “Only because you weren’t listening when I _told_ you.” He reminded, mutinously.

Callum sighed, raising a hand to rub at the back of his neck, and nodded. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, Ez. I should have believed you…or at least tried to listen.” He set his face in the most earnest contrition he could, because, well…he did always try to own up to his mistakes, when he made them.

His brother inspected him, as if for signs of any duplicity, then relaxed again. “Well, you’re listening now.” He said, with a note of satisfaction. “And I accept your apology. I guess now you just need to make all the buttheadedness up to me.” There was a glint in his eyes, and Callum knew _exactly_ what it heralded. He slumped, resigned, and considered how much his legs would protest to the Jerkface dance after so much uphill walking.

In the next second, though, he received some unexpected salvation. “Something I don’t understand, Ez,” Rayla said, diverting his brother’s attention back to her. “How does talking to animals mean you can talk to a _dragon?_ Dragons aren’t animals, they’re people. So is it really _talking,_ or…”

 “It’s not really talking.” Ezran admitted, after a moment. “Animals don’t really have language like we do. I mean, some of them have noises they make to warn each other if there’s trouble, and sometimes they have enough of those that it’s kinda like they have words, but…animals don’t _talk_ like people do, so…what I do, it’s kind of more like…” His words slowed, as if he were testing them one-by-one. “Like, understanding. And making _them_ understand me.”

Callum made an interested noise. “So, kind of….more like some sort of magical empathy thing than _talking?_ ”

“I guess?” Ezran offered, shrugging. “I don’t really think about how it works. I just do it. And besides, it’s kind of more like talking with Zym, anyway.”

Callum looked over at Rayla and shared an interested glance with her. A moment later, she ventured, “Because he’s…smarter? Not an animal?”

“I don’t think so. Otherwise I’d find it easier to understand people, not harder.” Ezran said, a little automatically, and then abruptly looked over at them in alarm, as if he’d said something he hadn’t intended. “Uhh…”

“…Ezran, um.” Callum said, after a moment of looking at his brother’s decidedly shifty expression. _That_ was a ‘caught stealing jelly-tarts’ face if he ever saw one. “I really need you to be honest with me here. _Can you read minds?_ ” The tone was joking, but…he was kind of serious too. _‘Harder’_ to understand people? That definitely seemed like an implication that he _could_ ‘understand’ them. What did that _mean?_ Could he ‘hear’ thoughts? Pick up on feelings? And what would ‘ _making them understand’_ constitute with a person, anyway?

“Of course I can’t read minds!” Ezran said, indignantly, which made him relax a little. At least until he followed it up with “Well, not really.”

Somewhat at a loss for words, Callum looked at Rayla again. Her eyebrows were very, very high as she stared at his brother. “…Care to elaborate, Ez?” She asked, dryly, and he squirmed.

“It’s _not_ mind-reading.” Ezran insisted. “Really. What I have with Zym is – different. I can’t only understand how he’s feeling, we can talk with _words –_ no one else is like that. You two, and other people – it’s so much harder to get anything from you than the animals.”

“…But, you can get _something?_ ” Callum prompted, when his brother went quiet.

Ezran looked away, furtive, and slid his fingers over azure eggshell. “Feelings, mostly.” He admitted, shrugging. “It’s easier when I’m touching someone. It was always like that. At first I could only understand animals if I was touching them, too. I’m better now, though.” He glanced up at Callum, and his shoulders hunched a little. He seemed bizarrely worried, and…Callum couldn’t really figure out _why._ What reaction was he anticipating, with the way he was _watching_ like that?

Tentatively, Callum reached out, and laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder. Bemusedly, he noted that the contact – according to him – might be conveying some of his emotional state across. What was he projecting, then? Confusion? Concern? “So, if you’re a super-special magical empathy-mage now,” He started, intentionally teasing, intentionally warm. “Can you tell me what I’m feeling?”

Ezran eyed him warily. “…Kind of confused, and…worried about me?” His face screwed up. “What are you _worried_ for?”

“I’m your big brother. It’s my job to worry about you.” Callum claimed, staunchly, and managed to prompt a smile. “Aunt Amaya said.” Mom, too, when she’d been alive. But bringing that up wouldn’t do anything except make everyone sad.

…Then he recalled that Ezran probably had access to that quick flash of grief, if he was sensitive enough to catch that sort of thing, and felt a little weird about it.

His brother dipped his head at him, subdued, in a sort of half-nod. “See, that’s…that there.” He said, abruptly. “People don’t _like_ it when you know too much about them, or how they’re feeling. It makes them feel…I dunno. They don’t like it.” His eyes slid to Callum’s, with a kind of caution he hated to see. “…You don’t like it, either.”

“…That’s what you’re worried about?” Callum said, after a moment, and then very deliberately reached down to clasp his brother’s hand, just over the eggshell. “Ezran, you’ve _always_ been weirdly insightful about people’s moods. Sure, that can be a bit of a pain sometimes, when I don’t want to talk about my feelings or whatever, but it’s not like – not like it’s actually a _problem._ I _really_ don’t care if your….emotional insight is more of a magical thing than I thought it was. It doesn’t change anything.”

Ezran blinked at him, looking down at their hands, and frowned. “But you felt weird about it.” He insisted. “Just now. Kind of weird and uncomfortable?”

“I’d feel the same way if someone pointed out how I was feeling just by looking at my face, you know.” He pointed out, pragmatically. “People pointing out your feelings _is_ uncomfortable, a lot of the time. That doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing. And you’re my _brother._ If anyone gets to have super-special insight into my feelings, of course it’s going to be you.”

Ez studied him for several long moments, and Callum wondered if he was doing his empathy-thing even now, to feel whether he was being genuine or not. Then he sighed, shoulders slumping in what definitely seemed like relief. “…Thanks, Callum.” He said, quiet. “I guess I was kind of worried about what you’d think.” He paused, and looked up. “…Rayla?” He said, tentative. “What about you?”

It was then that Callum realised how quiet she’d been, watching them talk, watching them interact. She was still sitting a short distance away, just around the fire, and her expression was a little inscrutable. “…It’s really not mind-reading?” She asked, after a moment. “You can’t tell what we’re thinking?”

Ezran shook his head. “Aside from with Zym? No, I’ve never had anything like that before.”

Rayla considered that, then nodded. “Okay, that was my main worry. I’m not going to lie – it _is_ a little bit uncomfortable, Ez, but…I don’t mind too much, as long as you’re careful with it.”

He tensed a little, perceptible to Callum through their joined hands. “…Like how?” He ventured, oddly timid.

“If you can tell what people are feeling – you can learn things that they…might want to keep hidden. Or don’t want to talk about.” She said, after a pause for thought. “So I think you need to be _very_ careful about what you _say_ about the things you learn, and…be respectful, I suppose. Feelings are…personal. And private. You need to make sure to know when it’s appropriate to talk about the things you pick up.”

Ez went a little more tense and a little more drawn-in as she spoke, but…not especially upset. Just…resigned. He nodded. “Yeah, I know. A lot of people just really don’t want other people knowing how they feel. Especially when it’s something that’s important, or secret.” He hesitated. “…I’m pretty used to knowing when to say something or not, by now. And I don’t spread around secret-feelings unless it’s really important.”

Rayla pursued her lips, thoughtful. The line of her brow made her look a little troubled. “You’re a good kid, Ez.” She settled on, eventually. “I suppose if I had to pick someone to have magical insight into my feelings, you’d be a good choice.” She hesitated, and then shuffled over to pat him on the shoulder, as much a reassuring gesture as it was a sign of trust.

He looked up at her, eyes wide and grateful and vulnerable all at once. “I know you don’t like other people to know what you’re feeling. You’re a really private person. I _know._ ” He said, the words coming in a quick and sudden rush. “I’ll be careful, I promise. You _can_ trust me.”

She looked at him, and her expression loosened a little. She moved her hand and laid it over Callum and Ezran’s, still joined over the egg. “I know.” Tentatively, her lips settled into a soft half-smile. She withdrew her hand, then, and sat back.

Callum looked between them, oddly touched by…by the open exchange of concerns? Reassurance? The obvious trust that Rayla had put in his brother? All of those, maybe. In any case, his chest practically ached with fondness for _both_ of them. And wasn’t it crazy, that Ezran could probably feel that?

As if reading the thought – which he apparently couldn’t – Ezran looked up at Callum and smiled. Then he looked down at the egg again, as if distracted by…something it’d said? Something _Azymondias_ had said?

“What makes him so different?” Callum wondered, aloud, as he allowed his hand to drop from the egg. “How come you can talk with him so much more clearly?”

“…I really don’t know?” Ez said, shrugging. “I…it’s weird. He just feels different. Like – the feeling of him, his mind and emotions? It just…fits. It’s easier to reach out to him. And he’s learning to kind of…almost reach back, sort of. Even though it’s hard for him.”

“I never thought dragons would be…awake and aware, even inside the egg.” Rayla offered, expression a little strange.

“Not awake. Not really.” Ezran shook his head. “It really is like he’s asleep and dreaming, and just…when we talk, it brings him closer up to the surface. But he knows me.” A smile flickered across his face. “And he knows you guys, too, from the sounds of your voices, and – Rayla, from the feeling of your magic. So yeah, I guess he’s pretty aware, for an unborn baby.”

Rayla seemed briefly nonplussed, perhaps at the implication that the Dragon Prince might _recognise her,_ whenever he got around to hatching. And…wasn’t that a thought? “How long do dragons stay in eggs before they hatch, anyway?” Callum asked, leaning forwards to inspect the shimmering surface of the shell.

Ez made a complicated series of faces, then, like he’d just seen something profoundly baffling. “Uhh….” He frowned at the egg. “Good question, I think. Zym thinks he’s ready to hatch _now._ But there’s something he needs before he can, and he doesn’t know what it is, or how to get it, except that there needs to be a lot of magic.”

“I doubt it’ll come up.” Rayla said, with a quick glance at the shell. “That egg is years old by now – I’m not sure _how_ old, but my parents left to be his Dragonguard a long time ago.” A shadow passed over her face, but she didn’t comment any further on that matter. Instead, she cleared her throat, and concluded “If it were that easy to hatch Storm dragons, he’d be a dragonling right now instead of an egg.”

“…Probably for the best.” Callum decided, tactfully refraining from asking exactly how young Rayla had been when her parents left. “If it’s this much work to keep _us_ fed and travelling, we don’t really need to be feeding an entire baby dragon too.”

“Fair point.” Rayla agreed, and stood. “Well, you two watch the pot and the egg and do…whatever. I’m going to go get more wood.”

Callum suspected, looking at her, that her objective was less to get firewood and more to walk around a bit, and perhaps get some breathing room from all the somewhat-difficult conversations they’d been having. But still, he could appreciate that. He nodded. She promptly sped off into the windblown treeline, leaving him and Ezran and Bait sitting there with a dragon egg, a bubbling pot, and several jars of food.

He sat silently staring at the fire, oddly uncertain of what to do in the quiet, and exhaled a very long and tired breath. Beside him, Ezran nodded understandingly.

“Long day, huh?” he commented, sympathetic, with his hands still on the egg of the dragon he apparently had some sort of magical connection with.

Callum considered the early awakening, the mounting despair over Rayla’s hand, the unexpected arrival of those human hunters, the whole exhausting event of what Ezran and the Dragon Prince had done with the binding, the several hours of uphill walking, and the incredible effort it had been to get the tent up in the wind. And that wasn’t even considering the difficult talks on the subject of Ezran’s abilities and the associated privacy concerns…

“ _Really_ long day.” He agreed, with feeling, and looked up at the sky.

Despite everything, despite everything that had happened….it was barely past late-afternoon. The sun was low enough for it to be evening, but…only just.

Abruptly, he considered that he’d need to change Rayla’s bandages and get her to do her hand massage before they slept, so really, the day still had a way further to go. He sighed again, this time with heartfelt exhaustion, and slumped backwards to the loose rocky ground. It should have been hideously uncomfortable, but he was too tired to care.

“Callum?” Ezran asked, alarmed, head shooting up to look over at him. “Are you okay?”

“….I’m fine.” He said, weakly, from the ground. “I’m just gonna…lay here a while, okay? It’s been a crazy day.”

Ezran considered that for a moment. “I think I’ll join you.” He decided, and flopped back beside him, egg held securely in his arms.

Callum huffed, lips quirking in a smile, and let his head fall back. “We can just watch the clouds for a bit, I guess.” He said, and that was exactly what they did.

He was so very, _very_ ready for this day to be over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **S3 notes:** If you’re not a new reader, be aware that I’ve gone back and made edits to chapters 1-10 to accommodate new s3 context and information. Nothing really needed any major changes, but the stuff’s in there. There are edit notes at the beginning of every chapter – but only on the ao3 version. I don’t have the patience to edit it on tumblr.
> 
>  **Notes:** In a fairly sudden decision made today, 30/11/19, I cut this chapter in half. The second half will be finished and posted as chapter 12 instead, and all my future chapters have been renumbered. This is because even I was getting sick of how long my chapters were getting, and my desire to avoid obscenely high chapter counts was not compelling enough to stop me from cutting it. Otherwise I think this chapter would have ended up being about 23-25k, and no one wants that.
> 
> From now on, I’ll be making an effort to keep chapters under 15k unless there’s compelling reasons not to, such as it being an important chapter with important emotional and narrative flow.
> 
> Next chapter is currently like 8k now, and I expect it to maybe conclude at around 10-12k. Lots of Corvus in that one.
> 
>  
> 
> **Story notes:**
> 
>  
> 
>  **Timeline:** This chapter takes place on 19.05, day 9. Kids have camped at an altitude of 1500m, and have ascended maybe 250-300m in the day.
> 
> Quite early in the morning, Soren and Claudia contemplate weather. This occurs more-or-less concurrently with Callum and Rayla tying up the hunters last chapter. Early afternoon, the Zym-Ez Machina happens, and after that they’re travelling. It’s been an eventful day. Not much later in the afternoon, Amaya is consecrated as a Justiciar.
> 
>  **Camping note:** The windy campsite experience is one of my own. Except in my case, it took ten people to hold the tent down while other people put the poles in and pitched it, not two. Same tent size as the kids have, pretty much, and it took ten people to stop the wind from flinging it and us off the mountain. So…I’m making gratuitous allowances for Rayla’s strength.
> 
> Camping on a slope? Also personal experience – though in my case it wasn’t the same campsite as the Windy Place. One of my group lost her bowl over the cliff, and someone else had to tackle her backpack when it started rolling downhill towards the edge. Considering we were all carrying group gear – losing that backpack would have been dire. See more slope-camping difficulties next chapter.
> 
>  **Medical note:** Thanks to the Zym Ez Machina, Rayla’s binding has been loosened somewhat. Now it’s about as tight as it was a day or two past the ritual. This is allowing her to reperfuse to an extent – there’s enough leeway for blood to circulate into the hand and start oxygenating it properly again. This also carries the toxic waste products left by dead or deoxygenated cells into the rest of the body, causing inflammation and tissue death and mild systemic shock. As I have stated before, I’ve decided that elves are less susceptible to reperfusion injury than humans, so this will not approach life-threatening levels for Rayla. It will, however, be pretty unpleasant, and exacerbate the severity of her permanent damage. In this chapter, the first signs of systemic shock start to set in, and then the elfy biological mechanisms she had kicked in and stopped the worst effects.
> 
>  **On Zym’s egg:** From s3, a lot of people seem to assume that Zym’s egg was laid on the day Avizandum died. I disagree. I’m pretty sure it was supposed to be Zym’s hatchday, and Zubeia was off catching a storm or something that she could bring back and hatch him with. Some reasons: if it was the day he was laid, Zubeia would have been there, because she’d be laying the egg, and I doubt she’d have gone flying off immediately afterwards. Rayla’s parents left to join the Dragonguard when she was a kid, years ago – I can see the Dragonguard being formed in advance of the egg being laid, but not that far in advance. And lastly, Viren seems to know about the egg’s existence already – his realisation of why Avizandum was there was much more ‘oh this makes sense now’ than ‘what if….the dragon king has an egg…what a horrible thought’. He certainly knows that Avizandum has a mate. So I maintain that Zym’s egg is years old, and he’s been maturing inside it for a long time as his parents wait for the right conditions to hatch him.
> 
> That's all for now. Expect another update within the next few days!


	12. Approaching the Belt xii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Callum navigates a delicate medical matter, Rayla comes to some conclusions, and Corvus arrives in Verdorn to find it in an uproar.

Amaya watched as the last of the unit settled into place before her, arranged row-by-row, all at attention. She inclined her head, running her eyes over them, and straightened to raise her hands, the motion pulling at the ceremonial banner she still wore. She supposed that, now, she’d be more-or-less obliged to add the Justiciar’s heraldry to everything. She’d already been issued with a new seal to press into letters, and that was only the start of it.

There would be a lot of adjustments to make, now, and a lot of changes. And, really, that was why she was here in the parade grounds now, even when every minute she lost was critical. She couldn’t afford to spend time on any lengthy speech, but…there needed to be _something_. She owed her troops that much.

Gren, beside her, raised his voice in time with her hands, conveying her words to the soldiers as she spoke them.

“Units six, seven, eight, eleven, twelve, and fifteen of the Standing Battalion,” She began, watching Gren from the corner of her eye to know when to continue. Timing was important in speeches, after all. “As you all know, or can at least see, I stand before you now as a Justiciar, consecrated not an hour past in the Hall of Paragons.” A cheer attempted to rise up among the soldiers, but she raised a hand to quell it. “And, accordingly, today I address you for perhaps the last time as your General.”

That subdued them. She could see the rustling passing among the crowd, pauldron to pauldron, the unease on their faces. They trusted her leadership. They trusted her guidance, and were made uncertain by the prospect of losing it. For a moment, she felt a sharp pang of regret for abandoning them – but, no. She exhaled, and hardened her resolve. Anyone could be the General of the Standing Battalion, in the end. But only she could be the Justiciar to hunt and bring justice to the elf who’d stolen her nephews. If they were still alive – and her heart hurt at the mere thought – she was the only family they had left. If they _weren’t_ alive, there was no one else who could serve the justice owed them.

She _had_ to put this first. For their sake, for hers, and for the kingdom’s.

“I am a Justiciar now. I have my mission, and I have my duty.” She said, the motions of her hands fierce and sharp. “For now, that duty leads me away from you. But I have served with you all these past years, I have trained with you all, and I have fought with you all. You are the finest military force in Katolis history, with or without your General. You are the Shield that protects the realm, and you will remain so even when I am gone.”

Amaya watched their reaction as Gren spoke her words, and felt the calculating eye of the General in her watching too. They straightened at her words, as they should. Felt the pride, as they should. She saw the morale rise among them, just as she’d intended, and was pleased.

Now for the orders. “From now until I serve with you again, you will be placed under the command of Lieutenant Fen. You are henceforth ordered to report to him at the Breach, and see to the safety of Katolis through these troubled times. While I serve Justice, you must keep the sanctity of our borders, and ensure that Xadia does not exploit the wounds their assassins have dealt. Written copies of your orders will be available from Captain Camsun.”

Her eyes strayed to the side, just briefly, to see the captain in question. He’d been distraught at his failure at the Banther Lodge. Had sworn to atone for his inability to stop the elf who’d – who may or may not have murdered Callum and Ezran. While he served as Crownguard now, he’d been a member of her Battalion for many years, and she knew him to be a man of conviction and courage. He had requested re-assignment to the Battalion, along with several of his unit, and she’d been happy to accept. He would fight all the harder, she knew, to redeem himself for what he perceived as his failure.

And, besides, it was always good to have another seasoned officer around. Especially when she’d be leaving the Battalion headless in short order.

She inclined her head, and then moved on to the next order of business. “My next request is a request only. Any and all of you are free to decline.” She waited for Gren to relay that, waited to see them shifting with the anticipation, then went on. “I ask for five volunteers to be reassigned from the Battalion to my entourage. Five who will bear my standard, act as adjuncts, and serve with me in the pursuit of Justice. Those who would volunteer, step forward.”

There was a brief, stunned beat while the words sank in.

Then, every single damn soldier stepped forward.

She sighed, exasperated and fond all at once. It wasn’t as though she’d expected anything else to happen, knowing the fierce loyalty and conviction of her soldiers, but even so…

In any case, she’d made sure to decide ahead of time who she’d pick, should the choice be available. “Ksenia. Medea. Zain. Kurien. And Marcos. Step forward.” One by one, the soldiers extracted themselves from the formation. Four were Battalion soldiers of long service, whose skills she well knew. The last was one of Camsun’s unit, a Crownguard who’d allegedly encountered the Moonshadow elves on the night they came to Katolis, and had somehow managed to survive. That experience, plus his alleged skills as a scout, had made her decide to pick him over more seasoned Battalion soldiers. With Corvus away and ahead, she needed another scout with her.

She nodded to them as they lined up where Gren waved them to, and then back out at the rest of the Battalion.

“You have your orders, and your duty. And I have mine.” She said. “I know you’ll continue to be a credit to the Kingdom in my absence. Dismissed, soldiers; may Valor ride with you.”

The salute rippled out across all six units of the Battalion she’d brought with her, their numbers barely diminished by the exit of the volunteers at all.

She’d come to Katolis expecting that some of them would need to be reassigned to the city, to bolster its defences. Instead, it seemed that the threat was at the border, and the only survivor of the assassination was fleeing to Xadia; Amaya had actually _gained_ soldiers for the Battalion, via the Crownguard who were now eager to do their part to avenge what had happened here. It was an unexpected outcome, but welcome. She was glad to leave the Battalion strengthened. It would need every last soldier.

She exhaled, feeling in the moment an end of an era. Perhaps she’d be the General of the Standing Battalion again, one day. But even if that day came, she’d be a different woman when it dawned. She could expect no less, with the quest ahead of her.

As the units began to filter out, each accepting their official orders from Camsun, Amaya gestured her new five adjuncts over to her, and began to speak to them. Ksenia and Zain, she knew, had a good grasp of sign. Especially Ksenia. If Gren was otherwise occupied, Ksenia could probably do a decent job of interpreting for her. The rest, though, would likely need to depend on Gren for a while. “Thank you for volunteering.” She said to them. “I’ll keep this short, as we need to leave the city within the hour. First: you retain your military ranks and privileges, and will be considered as reassigned to a special task-force under my command. While you are on this task-force, you will not be addressed by your ranks. Your title will be ‘Adjunct’, instead. You may be asked to perform any number of tasks on my behalf, including logistical management, investigation, scouting, and more. Commander Gren is second-in-command, and after that, the chain of command is as follows: Ksenia, Kurien, Zain…”

Gren’s mouth moved all through the briefing as he spoke her words. Established the chain of command. Elaborated on jurisdiction, duties, and pay. Informed the unit as a whole that they would all be required to gain or develop skills in Katolis Sign Language, to better serve under her. And, finally, gave them the option to leave now, if anything was unacceptable to them.

None did.

With all of them formally accepting their new roles, Amaya nodded to them, and said “Good. Now, get moving. You must convene at the stables within half an hour, packed and ready to depart. If you are not there, we will leave without you.”

With all of them duly debriefed, and all given their orders, she left it at that, and turned away to stride to her quarters. She had entirely too much to do and far too little time to do it.

Still, she found time to speak discreetly with Gren as they walked. “What do you think?” She asked. “Too little? Too much?”

“Just right, Amaya.” He assured her, with a smile. “Short but sweet – enough to motivate them, but not over-the-top.”

She sighed, and nodded, accepting his verdict. “I’ll never get used to the speeches.” She said, rolling her eyes as her hands moved. “I suppose I’ll be doing less of those now that I’m a Justiciar. Perhaps there’s Justice in the world, after all.”

He laughed at that, surprised, and signed back “I suppose so.”

She hesitated at the archway, just for a moment. She knew her duty. She knew that, as a person and an aunt and a sister, there was nothing else she could possibly do than pursue this course of action. As a _Justiciar,_ her duty was even clearer. But even so, it hurt to leave her soldiers without her.

With one last lingering look at what she was leaving behind, Amaya left the parade-grounds, the banner of Justice still trailing in her wake.

 

 

\---

 

In the end, Rayla was gone a while. Longer than collecting firewood should warrant. Callum supposed she needed space to think, and get her head together, just as much as he did. Just as much as, he assumed, Ezran did. The two of them didn’t speak in her absence, just laid there in the meagre shelter of the windblown trees, watching the sky.

The clouds were thick enough that it was somewhat surprising to be able to see them moving. But the winds were strong here, and so he could see the way the white shifted and roiled overhead, chased into a new shape every second. It was strangely calming to watch, a soothing reprieve from all the chaos and emotion and uncertainty of the day.

The cold of the ground seeped into his back until his whole body felt numb, and he didn’t even mind. That chill was restful too, in its own way.

He was just…so tired.

He’d fallen into a vacant, exhausted sort of calm by the time Rayla returned, her approach heralded by the crackle of loose rock under her feet. He didn’t sit up, and instead waited until she was close enough to be standing above him, leaning over to obscure his view of the sky. “Taking a nap, Callum?” She asked, with a light teasing note to the words, but he thought there was some concern there too.

He huffed, smiling tiredly, and pulled himself laboriously upwards as Rayla set the pile of wood down a short distance from the fire. “…Nah. We’re just resting a bit.” He said, eventually, nodding to where Ezran hadn’t bothered to sit up yet. “It’s been a crazy day.”

He saw her dark fingers flex at her side before she nodded. “You’re not wrong.” She said, wry, and sat down beside him. Ez finally deigned to sit up and join the proceedings, and at the sight of the gravel that had settled in his hair, Callum reflexively reached out and started picking it out.

“Did you have a nice walk?” He asked her, while he was doing that, Ezran wordlessly and almost drowsily shuffling himself into Callum’s side.

She startled a little at the question, glancing quickly at him. “I was collecting firewood.” She reminded him, as if she thought he’d forgotten.

“Well, yeah, but with how long you were gone, I kind of assumed you were…you know, taking a walk to clear your head a bit.” He reasoned, and watched her ears twitch down in time with her nonplussed expression. “After today, I wouldn’t blame you.”

“…And here I thought Ez was supposed to be the one with empathy powers.” Rayla said dryly, and settled beside them. She leaned over to inspect the water, which he’d deigned to take off the boil somewhere in the middle of his sky-watching daze. She did not, he noted, say anything either way about the accuracy of his assumption.

“’S a good brother. Notices people. And feelings.” Ezran mumbled, drowsy and a little incoherent, into Callum’s shoulder. He smiled, picking a last stone chip from Ezran’s crazy hair, and then ruffled it affectionately.

“Can’t compete with you though, bud.” He said to him, and shifted a little to better accommodate his brother’s weight. “I’ve just got regular noticing-people’s-moods skills. _You’ve_ got special magic empathy dragon-talking skills.”

“I guess I am pretty special like that.” Ez agreed, and yawned. He rubbed his eyes. “…Sorry, I guess I got kinda sleepy, just laying there. I think maybe the thing with Zym tired _me_ out too.”

“Makes sense to me.” Callum nodded, nudging Ez gently. “Maybe get an early night tonight, huh?”

“Mm.” Ez sighed, still leaning drowsily into his side.

Rayla watched them with a soft smile on her lips as she manoeuvred the pot aside and refilled their waterskins from it, slow and careful to avoid spilling it. Then she cast an analytic eye around the cliffside, and reached for the gloves she’d abandoned at the fireside earlier. He guessed she wanted to go get more snow to melt. Still, he found himself oddly reluctantly to see her go off again when she’d only just got back.

“Sit down for a while.” He said to her, impulsively, and reached out to tug gently at the jacket-sleeve over her elbow. “You’ve not eaten yet, right? You can go get more snow for the water later.” Ezran, evidently picking up on his words, helpfully nudged a jar of meat over.

She blinked down at him for a few moments, oddly startled, then dipped her head with another small smile. “…I suppose I am pretty hungry.” She agreed, settling herself back down, and accepted the jar that he and Ez shuffled over to her. His fingers crossed hers, briefly, as he handed it over. They were cold. He eyed her, briefly, but…in the end, if she wanted gloves, they were right there, and so was a campfire. She didn’t need him worrying over how cold her hands were.

Rayla shifted a little closer to the fire, and a little closer to them, before she started eating. He watched her from the corner of his eye, oddly satisfied by her proximity. It was comfortable to have her here with him and Ezran, all of them sat together at their camp. Familiar, by now, in a way that put him strangely at ease. He sighed, quietly content with the warm weight of his brother at his side, content with the presence of Rayla nearby, and considered getting out his sketchbook. Now would be good drawing-time, after all, and he rarely passed up an opportunity to draw.

But, for once, he just kind of wanted to…sit here. He looked into the flickering fire-light, eyes half-lidded, and wondered if this sense of ease could be attributed to how tired he was.

Rayla looked at him as she ate, the light purple of them hovering in the periphery of his vision. “Ezran isn’t the only one feeling sleepy, I’m guessing.” She commented, after a little while, and he glanced over at her. He thought he saw a trace of his same contentment pulling at the sides of her lips. It was nice to see her looking relaxed, after how awful the last few days had been.

He smiled tiredly at her. “Not so much sleepy, I guess, as just…I don’t know.” He looked into the fire again, watching it flicker and leap on the wood. The crackling of it was a nicer sound than the breeze hissing through the trees behind them. “…I guess, I’m just glad we’re here.” He said, eventually, the words quiet but heartfelt. “We’ve been travelling for days now, and…I’m just glad to be here. Glad you’re okay now. Glad we’re all okay.” He shrugged, just slightly. Not enough to dislodge his brother, who was looking up with a half-opened eye and a very relaxed countenance.

The small smile on her lips widened. Went soft and fond, in that way it’d been doing lately. “…Sappy prince.” She commented, after a moment, her voice warm enough that he was attempted to accuse her of being sappy right back. She reached over with her free hand and rested it, just briefly, on his arm; a little affectionate gesture. And then, as she was withdrawing the hand: “I’m glad, too.”

He wasn’t quite sure why he did it, but he reached out and grasped at her hand as she withdrew it. She stilled, blinking, and as he processed his own actions, he took a moment to be very glad that the hand in question was her bound one, as it gave him a plausible excuse to work with. Cheeks prickling with heat, he said “Mind if I have a look over this? I think it’s probably about time I change the bandages, anyway.”

Her eyes flickered down to their hands, then up to his face again. Her ears moved, and though he knew it must be some sort of emotion that moved them, he wasn’t quite familiar enough with elves to know what it was. “…Go ahead.” She said, in the end, and shifted closer to allow him to pull her hand more easily between his own.

Her fingers were still cold. He wasn’t sure if that was the ambient temperature, or just the lack of circulation still. Reflexively, he pressed them between his palms for a moment to warm them, and then ducked his head at – yet again – being more touchy with her hands than he’d intended. He didn’t look at her face, not quite brave enough to see her reaction, and then trailed his fingers to her wrist to undo the bandage as if nothing had ever happened.

The sight of the sores, inevitably, brought him a little more down-to-earth. A flash of alertness broke through his pleasant lassitude, his eyes flicking over the ruined skin to note the changes. “It’s better.” He spoke, absently, almost to himself, and felt his gut flicker with relief at the realisation. “See? It’s drying out, now. That means it’s starting to heal.” He inspected the blister on her last finger, and found it in a similar state, the redness of it gone dry and hard at the surface. No longer raw and wet and weeping as it had been before.

Rayla blinked down at her own wrist, leaning in to inspect it with him. “It _does_ look better.” She said, surprised, and tilted her head. “Feels better, too, I guess. Bit less like an open wound.”

He traced the edges of the sores carefully, turning her wrist over to look. She’d scratched the skin away at the sides, and at one part at the top – but the sores were plainly still there, even in the places where she’d not exposed them. They ran more or less the full circumference of her wrist, on both sides of the binding, and it occurred to him that they’d probably leave very distinctive scars.

Still. Now that they were capable of healing…he’d still have to worry about infection. He pursed his lips, contemplative, and reached to the side for his bag and its healing-stuff. “I don’t think I need to use as much of this stuff, now that it’s closing over.” He said, frowning at the glass bottle of alcohol. “Probably in a day there’ll be no point in keeping the bandages on, either. But for now…”

She sighed, resigned, and waited while he applied the alcohol, dabbing it around her binding on a wad of bandage. She didn’t seem to find it all that painful, so that was a definite bonus of the sores scabbing over.

He was aware of Ezran watching the whole affair, still leaning against his side, but his brother didn’t speak. That was a little strange for him. He’d have expected Ez to comment on the healing of her wrist, but instead, he was just…watching. Looking between them, quiet and thoughtful.

Callum ignored his brother’s eyes, and finished up with her wrist, tying a fresh bandage into place over the binding. He knew it was still there, but he still kind of liked the way the bandage covered it up. He really, _really_ didn’t like that binding. “How’s that?” He asked, and she drew her hand away to turn her wrist around, inspecting the bandage and flexing her fingers.

“Good. Thanks.” She said, absently, grimacing as she moved her hand.

His eyes followed the motion. “…Still hurts, I guess?”

“Sore.” She admitted, setting the dark hand down on her knee. “And prickly, still. But tons better than yesterday.” She sighed, turning it over so it was palm-up. “I suppose I’d better do what that healer said, considering my wrist’s still bound.”

He blinked, startled. “…What, er.” He cleared his throat. “Keeping your hand moving?”

“That too, but, you know. The hand massage.” She pressed her fingers into her palm with a light wince. “I…well, it doesn’t hurt like it did yesterday, at least.” She said, unhappily enough that it obviously still hurt quite a lot. Callum side-eyed her, reached into his bag, and pulled out a piece of willow bark. Wordlessly, he set it on her knee. She glanced over at him, lips curving unbidden into a smile, and popped it into her mouth. “…Thanks.” She said, as she moved the piece of bark to her cheek, and looked down at her hand again.

Suddenly, she frowned.

“…Did I ever actually _do_ my hand yesterday?” She asked them, abruptly, looking across at them with a furrowed brow. “That’s why I took the lilium in the first place – but I don’t know if I actually _did_ it. Before I, you know, scratched my wrist open.” She grimaced, even as Callum ducked his head and tried not to look too suspicious.

Ezran straightened, the motion very perceptible against Callum’s side. “Wait, you don’t remember?” He asked, and when Callum looked down at him, he seemed abruptly much more awake, eyes lit up and intrigued. “How come you don’t _remember_?”

“Side effect of the lilium, apparently. Yesterday evening’s mostly a weird blur.” She shrugged, as if to conceal how uncomfortable that statement plainly made her, and looked over at them with a little more suspicion. “So? Did I do it, or not?”

Callum shrank back a little, his neck prickling with heat, and attempted to turn invisible. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t work, and all that happened was Ezran elbowing him in the side until he cleared his throat and said “I, uh. Um. No, you didn’t.” He had to take another second to squirm under her stare before he could add “I, uh. I did it. For you, I mean.”

She stared for a few long seconds, brow furrowed, and then looked down at her hand. “…You did?” She said, sounding almost confused. She squinted, as if trying to see something through a fog. “I…maybe remember that?” Her ears sort of…flicked down, and he wished he knew enough about elf-specific body language for that to mean anything to him.

“You were kind of really out of your head.” Ezran said, helpfully, eyes dancing between them with an odd enthusiasm. “Callum kept telling you to do it but you kept messing with your bandages instead, so he just did it for you.”

Slowly, Rayla closed the fingers of her good hand around the bound one, a strange look on her face. “…I think I _do_ remember.” She muttered, as if to herself, and then her eyes flickered side-ways to his. Her cheeks pinked a little. “…Thanks?” She offered, shoulders hunching ever-so-slightly as he looked back at her. It occurred to him, all of a sudden, that she might be rendered as self-conscious by the memory as he was. “For…helping.”

It was a strangely baffling thought. “…No problem.” He managed, voice coming out somewhat higher and squeakier than he’d have preferred.

She cleared her throat, awkward, and looked away. Still chewing on willow-bark, she pressed her fingers along the palm of her bad hand, suppressing tiny winces as she went. He couldn’t help but watch her. Couldn’t help but feel his own fingers twitching with…with the urge to reach out? Chase her hand away and replace it with his own?

Ezran, beside him, shifted. Callum looked over just in time to see his eyes slide slowly between the two of them, and then for him to say – loudly- “You know, I think it probably works better if someone else does it.” Rayla paused, looking over at him, eyebrows shooting up, and Callum elbowed his brother in alarm.

“ _Ezran, what are you doing?_ ” he hissed, and the boy looked up at him, utterly unrepentant. There was a spark of mischief in his eyes that Callum didn’t trust in the least.

“Making _sound medical suggestions_.” Ez answered, evidently feeling cheerful, and being very blatant about it. “Rayla, I think it’ll be way easier if Callum does it for you. He can use two hands. You can’t. It’s just smarter.”

Rayla’s eyes, still wide, flicked from his brother’s face to his. Her cheeks pinked, and her shoulders rose a little more. She opened her mouth, but didn’t say anything.

“Callum doesn’t mind.” Ezran insisted, for him, and elbowed him in the side again. Callum winced and shot a panicked glance his brother’s way, hands fluttering up nervously. “Right? _Callum_?”

At his prolonged silence, Rayla seemed to close in on herself, as if trying to make herself look smaller. She opened her mouth again, and started to say “It’s – it’s fine, you don’t-“ Just as Callum finally managed to blurt something out.

“I don’t mind.” He blurted, and her words froze on her lips, even as he felt his face going probably irredeemably red. “I mean. If you – if you don’t-“ He cleared his throat. “-think it’s weird.”

She ducked her head, and looked away. Her ears twitched down again, and they actually looked kind of red at the tips. “ _You’re_ weird, Callum. Never mind anything else.” She muttered, shoulders hunched defensively, and – for a second, he thought that was a _it’s definitely weird, never come near me again_ sort of response-

But then, quick and almost aggressive, she thrust her hand out towards him. Without so much as looking in his direction.

The sight of it accompanied a hot rush of comingled emotion under his skin, and Callum faltered for a second, with about three different kinds of feeling trying to shove themselves to the forefront. Mortification, awkwardness, a strange muddled pleasure…

Then he reached out, and took her hand between his again. A few minutes ago, when he’d been doing her bandages, it hadn’t been awkward, or weird. Well, mostly. Now…

He shot his brother a look, hoping it conveyed the approximate sentiments of _I hope you’re happy._

Ezran smiled back at him sunnily, evidently more than pleased with what he had wrought.

Callum squirmed, and then…well, he had her hand, and he had it for a reason, so…he just…sort of…got to it, cradling her hand between his and pressing his thumbs gently into her palm. Massaging some circulation back into it was, as it happened, a very different sort of experience when she was sober and lucid and tense beside him – if he thought he’d been flustered _yesterday,_ he’d been an idiot. He felt like his face was going to combust, and his head was too muddled to really know _why._

 _I mean, like Ezran said, it makes sense,_ he thought to himself, a little frazzled, as her hand warmed between his. The fingers were still just too cold. _It works better this way. It makes sense. Why am I making it all_ weird _?_

He supposed, in the end, elf or not, Rayla _was_ a girl. And extended hand-holding of most varieties with a girl was likely to be something that made him feel awkward. Hand massages, even for valid medical purposes, kind of really did qualify. That was…well, that explained it, right? He should just…try to be less awkward and weird about it. It was fine. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes, observed that she was still determinedly not looking at him, and had to suppress a rush of internal panic that wanted to convince him that she was annoyed with him and never wanted to talk to him again. That was his thought-spiralling talking and he _knew_ it. But _still…_

Where had all that nice, peaceful calm from earlier gone?

Trying to feel like less of an awkward, red-faced mess than he knew himself to be, Callum just…kept on, as clinically as possible, and did his best to shut his brain up.

Ezran, beside him, seemed weirdly smug. What did he get out of this? What was his angle? What did _he_ think about the flood of mortification he could probably empathy-feel through Callum’s side?

Still. Even as awkward as it all was, Callum could hardly miss the way Rayla flinched, sometimes, when he pressed a little more firmly on her skin. At the reminder that her hand really did still hurt, he…didn’t exactly _stop_ feeling mortified, but it kind of went into the background of his head where it belonged, so he could focus more on being concerned about her. He tried to press as gently as he could, and where he had to, increased the pressure slowly, but she was still wincing.

After several minutes of watching this, he felt settled enough and concerned enough to consider speaking to her again. “…How’s the pain?” he ventured, a little timidly, and she twitched slightly in his direction. “Are you okay?”

She turned her face in his direction, just enough for her eyes to flicker to his from the side. Despite the pain she had to be in, her cheeks were still a little pink, her expression still stubbornly – almost aggressively – closed-off. “…Not too bad.” She muttered, after a moment. “It’s…fine.” The line of her visible ear was as pink as her face.

He studied her as best he could, and in the end had to take her at her word.

Just like yesterday, it was kind of hard to know when to consider the hand massage complete. He wasn’t sure if you were meant to stop when you’d done work on the whole hand, or do it several times. The idea was to circulate the hand, right? So…in theory, warming it up, and working on it for longer…those were good things? He really didn’t know. He _did_ recall that the Healer had recommended doing it several times a day, though, and felt his cheeks go pink again.

He got the feeling that, thanks to Ezran, he’d basically been signed up to do this every day until they found some way to get her binding off for good. He didn’t _mind –_ it was true that he could do the job better than she could, and it wasn’t like he didn’t _want_ to help her – but he sincerely hoped it would get less awkward eventually.

In the end, he went over her palm, fingers, and back of her hand twice before he thought it made sense to stop. He hesitated, feeling her skin pretty much just as warm as his now, and then reached out and deposited her hand on her knee. “I…think that’s about done for now?” he said, almost questioningly, when she glanced at him.

Her ears twitched, and so did the fingers he’d let go of. “…Thanks.” She said, after a moment, her posture still tense and closed-off. Then, in an abrupt rush of motion, she got to her feet. “I’m….going to go-“ She paused, for a second, plainly searching for an excuse. Then she bent to snatch her gloves from the ground. “-get more snow.” She finished, and whirled and walked away so briskly that she definitely seemed to be in a hurry. She disappeared past the trees in seconds, which he supposed made sense, since they’d cleared most of the icy snow from the cliffside, but…

Callum slumped, a little, watching her go. “ _Thanks_ , Ez.” He muttered, to his brother, deeply sarcastic. “Now she’s mad at me.”

Ez made a rude noise at him, still leaning contentedly into his side. “No she’s not, don’t be dumb.” He refuted, and Callum glanced at him.

“What, did your empathy tell you that?” he asked, dryly.

“My _eyes_ told me that.” He said, and stuck out his tongue. “It’s fine, you’ll see. She’s just not used to letting people help her with stuff.”

“Or, not used to people massaging her hands.” Callum mumbled, into his scarf, nerves still making his skin buzz.

“That too.” Ezran agreed. “But it’s _fine,_ Callum, stop worrying. She’s not mad at you. And it’s for a real healer-y reason, so _there._ ”

Ezran was typically a good judge of people and their moods, but even so…Callum drew up his knees, planted his face onto them, and groaned.

He wondered if it was weird that, already, he kind of missed the weight of her hand between his.

 

\---

 

As soon as she found a decent-sized snowdrift, Rayla buried her gloved hands into it, and took a great armful of the stuff up to carry through the trees back to their cliffside camp. By the time she got past the treeline and dumped the stuff unceremoniously a couple of metres away from their fire, the warmth of Callum’s hands had already left her bound fingers.

She wondered if the tingling of the skin was the same prickling numbness as before, or something entirely different. The wondering was slightly pointless, though, because she _knew._

She clenched the fingers inside their poorly-fitting glove almost angrily, and went about her work. On her second trip back, she noted that Callum had very sensibly started melting some of the stuff in the pot, so she at least didn’t need to prompt him to do that. He looked up at her, as she deposited the second armful of snow in the nascent pile, and her ears prickled with heat.

Not quite ready to talk to him or even _look_ at him yet, she whirled away and returned to the trees.

After a few rounds of that, the front of her – _his,_ really _–_ shirt and jacket was soaked through and freezing-cold, and the chill had seeped deeply through the gloves. The cold settled her, in a way. Slowed her down enough that her emotions started to follow, smoothing out from their prickly edges and mortifying heights. She grew coherent enough to start thinking angry, frustrated thoughts at herself as she worked.

She berated herself for being so stiff and awkward about the whole thing. She berated her hand for tingling, and missing the warmth. And she _especially_ berated herself for the way she hadn’t quite managed to say _no_ when Ezran suggested it. She’d tried. Opened her mouth to say that, no, it was fine, she could do it – but…

In the end, she’d remembered just enough of yesterday’s rendition that, in some strange rush of half-named feeling, she didn’t _want_ to say no. The memories were dreamlike and blurred, suffused with sleepy contentment, and through that rosy drug-induced haze, his hands had felt…nice. The touch had been soothing. The warmth, too. And, without either pain or sobriety, her experience of it had been unambiguously positive.

But this time? It had been mortifying. It had _hurt._

So, really, she thought she was justified in being absolutely _furious_ with herself for _still liking it._

A few dozen moments from the past several days were clicking into place in her mind with a terrible, irrevocable clarity, and she groaned to herself, embarrassed and frustrated all at once. The next time she found some snow, she buried her face in it, if only so that the shock of the cold would bring a snap of quiet to her head. The icy flakes of it stung on her cheeks, and melted in her hair, but she really couldn’t bring herself to care.

It just _figured_ that the first time she ended up with a proper friend around her own age, she’d end up making a mess of things.

Her next thought, with her face still planted into the snowbank, was that she had to be _very_ careful when she let Ezran near her, now. How did one hide one’s feelings from an empath? Did she just…try to avoid experiencing certain emotions when he might be close enough to pick them up?

…Had he _already_ been picking them up? In retrospect, all the _warm fuzzies_ when she looked at Callum smiling or being earnest or generally existing were pretty damning, but had Ezran been in empathy-range for any of that?

….She couldn’t quite remember, and that made her gut prickle with unease. As if she needed _another_ secret to guard, with all that she was already carrying.

 _At least he can’t read thoughts,_ she thought to herself, grumpy, and picked herself up out of the snow. She wiped it off of her face and picked up an armful, heading back to camp again.

Thinking of the practical issues of navigating an empath did settle her, somewhat, so when she returned through the trees that time, she felt less like a complete embarrassing mess. She dumped the snow down, eyed the pot Callum was melting it in, and reluctantly concluded that there was probably more than enough to finish filling their waterskins, now. _And_ boil the old bandages, probably.

Still. That didn’t mean she had to come back and sit down yet. Without a word, she flounced back into the trees again, and went to sit on a nice cold rock for a while.

Once she had spent some time in solitude coming to terms with the realisations of the evening, and determining that _absolutely no one must know,_ she thought she was approaching a state where she was ready to behave normally again. As justification for her extended absence, she brought some branches back with her when she returned.

“We’ve got enough water and wood now, I think.” She announced, as she reintroduced herself to the campsite properly. She dumped the wood with the rest, and then deposited herself back beside Callum as if nothing was wrong. She staunchly avoided letting any of her recent conflict, awkwardness, or anything else of the sort onto her face. She would have sat next to Ezran, instead, but that was just _asking_ for him to empathy-magic his way into her newest problem.

“…So I see.” Callum said, bemusedly, eyeing the final size of the snow-pile and then the unnecessarily-tall firewood stack. His eyes flickered to hers, and his shoulders rose just a little, in a way that made him look still-embarrassed. “…Why is your hair wet?” He asked, after a moment, brows furrowing.

Rayla raised a hand to her hair, noting that it had indeed picked up enough melted snow to be visibly wet. “…Fell into a snowdrift.” She explained, vaguely, and his eyebrows went up.

“…Fell.” He repeated, a little sceptically, with an expression that said he doubted her story very much indeed.

“Fell.” She agreed, and stared at him evenly, as if daring him to point out the flaws in that statement.

He cleared his throat, shrugged, and looked away. “Well, okay then.” He accepted, though he was clearly unconvinced, and leaned over to look at the bubbling pot. “Mind if I draw, now that you’re back?” he said, after a moment. “Didn’t want to leave the pot unwatched.” A very sensible sentiment, and one she’d apparently successfully drummed into his head when she inducted him into the noble art of travel-cooking.

She tilted her head. “What about Ezran? Why couldn’t he watch?” She asked, and looked over at the boy in question. She blinked, promptly guessing the answer to her own query.

“He’s talking to his dragon.” Callum explained, unnecessarily, since she was perfectly able to see the way he was cradling the egg close, eyes completely shut as he leaned into his brother’s side.

“I can still _hear_ you, though, it’s not like I’m asleep.” Ez muttered, a second later. “And he’s not _my_ dragon. He’s his own dragon.”

“He’s more yours than he’s anyone else’s, though. Except his mum’s.” Rayla pointed out, after a pause for thought. “You’ve got to be his best friend, right? Can’t imagine he’s done much talking with anyone _else_ through the eggshell.”

A smile flickered onto the young prince’s face. “…Yeah, well. I guess that’s true.”

She leaned back, idly curious. “What’s he saying? Anything interesting?”

He stuck out his tongue. “Best friend stuff.” He said, loftily, and did not elaborate.

Rayla snorted at him, but didn’t press. It would be quite hypocritical of her to do so, given she’d intentionally avoided sitting close to him to prevent him getting wind of her current emotional climate. Then, to Callum, she said “Draw away. I’ll handle the pot.”

He smiled at her, open and grateful in that earnest way of his, and reached for his sketchbook. “Thanks.” He said, opening it on his lap. Rayla turned to the pot, and tried to ignore the way her gut had flip-flopped on her when he smiled.

It occurred to her that the next weeks to however-long of this journey were going to be kind of insufferable, now. Now that she’d _noticed_ what her stupid emotions were doing, it was going to be very hard to un-notice. If not impossible.

Still. Rayla was quite good at ignoring things when she put her mind to it. She’d manage.

She saw the flipping of paper out of the corner of her eye as she squashed more snow into the pot with the tip of a blade, heard Callum leafing through his sketchbook, and then eventually the soft scratch of charcoal. It wasn’t until several moments later that she glanced over, and blinked to see what he was drawing. Ezran, she saw, was looking too, eyes fixed on the page with a strange solemnity.

Rayla turned more fully to inspect the page, fingers clenching reflexively. “…Still on your mind?” She asked, a little too lightly, as she looked at the charcoal representation of her own hand. He’d said that, hadn’t he, when she first saw the drawing? That it had been on his mind?

It was strange to look at it – a depiction from days ago. Bereft of the cuff of exposed flesh, bereft of bandages, bereft even of the blister on her last finger. He’d been troubled enough then to draw this, even before things got worse.

His eyes flicked up to her, looking a little uncomfortable. “…Well, yeah, kinda.” He said, shrugging awkwardly, and kept on at the shading. “But also…I just don’t really like to leave drawings unfinished, in this book.” He paused, for a second, charcoal hovering over the page, and admitted “…It’s a bit less depressing to work on, now that your hand is probably going to be okay. Hopefully.”

She tilted her head, a strange pensive mood settling over her, and her eyes flickered to her hand. She didn’t have any delusions that she’d escape the binding unscathed. Being bound as long as she’d been bound – however long she would _end up_ being bound – was sure to leave marks deeper than the inevitable scars on her wrist. But…she’d be able to keep the hand, now. Unless something went horribly wrong. “Hopefully.” She echoed him, and flexed the dark fingers. They ached and cramped at the movement, as always, and the now-healing sores were really starting to _itch_. Absently, she scratched carefully around the edges of the wrist-bandages. “Are you doing to draw the bandages?” She asked, as she looked down at them.

He huffed, not quite amused, but…appreciating the dark humour of the situation, maybe. “I guess the drawing _is_ a little out of date, huh.” He remarked, looking down at the binding represented on the page, with a tightness around his eyes that implied the sight troubled him. She wondered what it was he saw, to make him stare at it like that. A reminder of how close it had been? A reminder of when she’d stood there and tried to make him give up hope as she had? In the end, what he said was “No, I think I’ll leave it like this – it’ll just be your hand, a couple days ago. Before…today happened.” He made a face, and all over again, Rayla was reminded of the sheer _length_ of the day.

Had it really been just a handful of hours ago, that everything changed?

Ezran looked between them, quiet, hands settled on the smooth surface of the egg. “I think it’s good, to have that drawing in your book.” He said, after a moment. “It’s…a reminder. Not a happy one. But it _is_ happy, in a way, because when you started drawing that, you thought you were gonna have to cut her hand off.” Callum _winced_ at that, and Rayla knew his brother’s words had hit uncomfortably hard. “But that’s not what happened, and now…” he looked up at Rayla. “Now, you get to keep your hand. So that picture is like – a reminder of how much better things can turn out than you expect them to.” He nodded, clearly satisfied with having said his piece, and made no move to keep on speaking after that.

A moment lingered among them in pensive silence, with the crackle of the fire and the drone of the wind rising up to fill it. Then Callum reached to the side, and gently ruffled his brother’s hair. “You’re a wise kid, Ez.” He said, with quiet pride, and rested a hand briefly on his shoulder. “You sound a lot like dad when you say stuff like that.”

Rayla’s hand clenched, in a startled sort of reflex, in time with her gut.

Ezran sounded pleased, at least. “Thanks, Callum.” A pause. “You called him ‘dad’, that time.”

Callum blinked, startled, and raised a hand to his neck. “I did? Huh. I guess…” he shrugged. “I guess what you said before is sinking in.”

“What, that you should call him ‘dad’?”

“Yeah. And that he’d want me to.” Callum smiled, a quick hesitant thing. The sight of it in her periphery was like a physical blow.

“He _would._ ” Ez said, entirely certain. “So next time you see him, you call him that. Okay?”

Callum laughed, softly, heartbreakingly warm. “I’ll keep that in mind, Ez. Thanks.” He said, and returned to drawing.

All the while, Rayla breathed, doing what she could to keep her conflict from her face, even as grief stabbed her like a knife through the heart. Not grief for the King she’d never known, but for the sons who’d have to mourn him. And then there was the guilt – because she _still hadn’t told them._

After everything, after all this time…she still hadn’t told them.

She was silently glad that she hadn’t sat too close to Ezran.

The spent the rest of the late-afternoon in relative quiet, with Ez apparently communing with the egg, Callum drawing some picture or other, and Rayla slowly making her way through both the snow pile and her surplus of unpleasant feelings.

When she’d filled the waterskins and boiled the bandages clean, she considered the pot, and then took the latest batch of water away before it had finished boiling to wash up quickly behind some trees. She took the opportunity, out of sight or hearing of the boys, to wash her face and gasp and sob a little with the panic and pre-emptive grief of what she needed to find a way to tell them. She breathed, eyes closed, as the water grew icy at her fingertips, and didn’t return to the camp until she’d regained her composure.

She returned without explaining where she’d gone, and poured the water out. All wordlessly, she melted some more snow and brought it to heat, but not to boil.

“If either of you want to wash up, there’s this pot of water.” She told them, breaking the comfortable quiet that had been prevailing, and they both looked up.

“Wash up?” Callum asked, doubtfully, eyeing the pot. It was not, in fairness, very large.

“That’s about the best you get when you’re in the mountains.” She informed him, grateful that her voice sounded normal now. “Unless you feel like breaking the ice off a river to take a wee dip.”

He shivered at the mere thought, and set his sketchbook aside. “…Yeah, fair point.” He looked questioningly at his brother. “Ez? You want to take the pot, or are you good for now?”

Ezran considered it, then sniffed under his arms thoughtfully. “I smell okay, I think. I don’t get smelly like you do.” Rayla snorted, reluctantly amused despite everything, and reached out to drape a wash-cloth over the side of the pot.

“Flattering.” Callum told him, lips quirking. “Just you wait till puberty catches up with you, bud. Then you’ll stink too.” Still, he hefted the pot, stood, and went off into the trees with it.

By the time he returned, having evidently spilled water all over his clothes in the process of trying to wash his hair, Rayla was beyond ready to call the day done. “Good, you’re back.” She sighed, standing. “I think we need to be getting to sleep now. It’s been a…” She paused, to add a _great_ deal of feeling to the words: “…a _very, very_ long day.”

Callum blinked, and looked at the sky. The sun hadn’t set yet, though it was getting there, but he didn’t seem to find this any grounds for objection. “…I could really use an early night, yeah.” He said, ruefully, and knelt to start packing his things up.

With all three of them helping, it didn’t take long to get everything nicely stowed-away in their bags. Rayla piled gravel into the fire, not especially wanting to leave it burning directly beside trees while they slept, and then hefted three bags over her shoulders to take them into the tent, the two human princes trailing behind her.

As was usual, they fell asleep before she did. Even with how exhausting the day had been, it took Rayla a little longer. She thought of the King whose death she still held secret, words seemingly locked behind her teeth. She looked at Callum, gut twisting at the new knowledge the day had wrought, and the lingering certainty that she’d hurt him terribly, whenever she finally found a way to tell him about his father.

In the end, too exhausted for even those dark thoughts to keep her awake, Rayla drifted off, holding her bound hand as if to echo the warmth it remembered.

 

\---

 

Corvus had never been to Verdorn before, and despite the trajectory of the trail, had not particularly expected to change that in the near future. He was, to his knowledge, in pursuit of an elf with human prisoners. Whyever would an _elf assassin_ risk intersection with a human settlement? It wasn’t as though Verdorn were especially significant in tactical terms – it was just another mining town, after all – so he doubted there were any obvious objectives to be served in approaching it.

And yet, the trail was very clear.

He observed the footprints of the elf veer off for a while, finding a road before returning, and then apparently directing the entire group to travel along the same route. A route that led, unerringly, to Verdorn.

That could be a problem. Verdorn was a paved town, and he’d certainly lose the trail there. At best he could make a loop of the town’s periphery and hope to pick out a likely grouping of footprints leaving it.

…Then again, if they’d passed through the town in daylight, there would be witnesses. Verdorn was small enough that it would notice strangers.

Corvus considered the sight of the town, picturesque in the shadows of mountains, and headed towards it with a sigh, mind whirling as he walked. Would an elf carry money? Could she be looking to provision for the journey through the mountains that her course implied? Was she not concerned that her hostages might call for help if she brought them to civilisation? _Had_ they called for help, perhaps?

Well. Only one way to find out.

He followed the road into town, and quickly noticed how strangely quiet the streets were. The memorial flames were still lit along the thoroughfare, but there was no one around. But…if he listened carefully, he thought he could hear a distant clamour of many voices. He narrowed his eyes, and followed it, picking his way along the roads to what seemed like the centre of town. The centre of town where, apparently, a good number of people had gathered in a very noisy fashion.

He arrived at a crowded town square, where a large crowd was gathered in front of what seemed to be the town hall, shouting at an official-looking person who was trying to make proclamations.

“-might I remind you that the decision of the town council to approve the reduction of a guard was unanimous?” Called the official, in vain, over the protests of the crowd. “And, I might add, it’s not as though a town guard would have made much difference in the – incident-“

“Don’t you call it an _‘incident’_ like that, they nearly _died!”_ Someone shouted, absolutely outraged, to a chorus of angry cheers.

Another bold voice rang out. “How are we meant to sleep at night when elves could come through the streets murdering us all?” They demanded, and Corvus straightened with interest at the edge of the crowd. “We’re not _safe!”_

The probable-mayor tried again: “There’s absolutely _no_ indication that this elf was more than a lone agent-“

“But what if there’s _more?_ ” A particularly outspoken man near the front shouted, shaking a pickaxe in the air. “How are we meant to protect our homes?”

“…We’ll implement a curfew, and an increased watch, until we’re sure the threat has passed.”

“And the other people who live up the river? Or on the outskirts?” One of the first speakers prodded, unimpressed. “What happens to them?”

“…They’ll simply have to be more careful. Or else they can take shelter in the town hall for a while…”

He listened for a few more minutes, intent and focused, and then politely started navigating his way through the masses to the front. He received a few grumbles and dirty looks in the process, but eventually broke his way through the highly spirited mob and to the front, whereupon all eyes fell on him. His nerves threatened to trouble him at the sudden attention – he was a _tracker,_ he wasn’t exactly accustomed to operating under mass scrutiny – but he clamped down on the response, took a breath, and spoke clearly.

“Greetings.” He said, looking from the suddenly-wary crowd to the bemused mayor. “My name is Corvus. I’m a tracker with the Standing Battalion. I’m pursuing an elf who I suspect has passed through here. Forgive me for the interruption, but it seems some of you might have information for me.”

There was a brief hush, during which the mayor slumped with palpable relief, the words ‘ _Standing Battalion’_ rustled through the crowd like the wind in a forest’s leaves, and he began to hear the General’s name from one or two corners.

Then, the mayor spoke, hurrying forwards a few chests to offer a formal salute. “We’re delighted to have you – Corvus, was it?” The man said, as Corvus nodded politely back. He turned back to the crowd. “We’ll discuss town security this evening in the hall. Concerned citizens may send one representative per family. Until then – we’d best help the General’s man with his search.” Corvus watched the response of the crowd – there was some grumbling, but it seemed his entrance had largely diffused the worst of its tempers. The mayor noticed this, and went on more confidently. “Melana? Meldrin?” he called, eyes fixed near one edge of the group. “You two come here, since you saw the outsiders. Everyone else…well, do what you like.”

The edges of the crowd started to disperse a little, and a duo of dark-haired people came forwards. They looked quite similar – he thought they must be siblings, or cousins at the very least. The Mayor nodded to them, and then led them all through the doors of the town hall for – he assumed – a little privacy. He found them a bench and sat down, sighing wearily.

“One elf passes through and the whole town goes mad.” The man grumbled, and shook his head. “I didn’t introduce myself – I’m Dallin. These are Melana and Meldrin – they met with the strangers yesterday.”

“Only for a couple of minutes.” The man, Meldrin, protested.

“I’m not convinced they’re the same strangers, anyway.” The woman added, arms crossed.

Corvus looked between them, a little awkward, but more than focused enough to bypass that. “May I ask – how many strangers did you meet?”

“Three.” Melana answered, succinctly. “A girl and two boys, one quite young. They were all kids, anyway.”

He nodded, heart beating a little shallowly in his throat. “…I’ve been tracking a group of three. One elf, female, and two humans.” He said. “From what I heard out there, it seems like someone had a violent encounter with the elf?”

The mayor nodded. “This morning.” He agreed. “A pair of local hunters stumbled across a camp. There was a girl with her hood up, but one of them identified her as an elf by her hands. She attacked them. Knocked one out and restrained the other, and tied them both up.” He glanced to the side. “They got free a few hours later and hurried back here. From the descriptions they gave, the elf’s group is probably the one that passed through yesterday.”

Corvus listened closely, thoughts running all the while. To tie the hunters up and leave them alive – that was oddly merciful for a Moonshadow elf. They tended to dispose of their witnesses, rather than let them live to bring warning. “You spoke to them?” he asked the pair of siblings, instead of the dozens of other questions he could feel brimming behind his lips.

They nodded, a little jerkily. “They wanted directions.” Meldrin said, rubbing the back of his neck. “To, well. To a Healer.”

He blinked. “A _Healer?_ ” He asked, surprised, as the track of his thoughts abruptly halted. “Did they seem sick? Injured?”

“Not that I could see, in the couple of minutes they were there for.” Melana frowned a little. “Honestly, we weren’t talking to them that long, I don’t think we can tell you much. You’d be better off seeing if they went to talk with Farthing or Marla. Marla’s seeing to the hunters, actually, so if you wanted to talk to them, you’ll find them at hers.”

Corvus nodded, extracting locations and descriptions of both people before he returned to his questioning. He grilled the siblings on descriptions of the strangers, what they’d said, and anything else they might have noticed.

The humans were described as a dark-haired boy with green eyes and pale skin, and a younger boy with dark skin, dark hair, and blue eyes. He was allegedly carrying a weird yellow-and-blue animal that neither of them recognised.

Corvus had only seen it once, but he remembered the Prince’s glow-toad. He thought of the small animal tracks along the trail, and shivered with trepidation.

He thanked the mayor and siblings for their time, and took directions to the closest of the potential informants. He sat with the man named Farthing for ten minutes before politely excusing himself, receiving nothing useful from the encounter except a confirmation of the description and some sort of hint that they’d asked him about dark magic. He arrived a while later by what certainly seemed to be a house of healing, and knocked promptly on the door.

“Come in!” Called a voice from within, and he opened the door on a large room with two occupied beds and a middle-aged woman sat at a table with her mortar and pestle. He performed a quick, cursory assessment of the three visible people: the two men on the beds didn’t look especially injured, and were in fact sat up, and had probably been talking with one another before he interrupted. The woman was certainly the Healer, and she was appraising him more-or-less the same way he was her.

“I’m Corvus, of the Standing Battalion.” He introduced himself, after a moment, and bowed shallowly: respect for a professional, with no implication of fealty. “I spoke with the Mayor, and he directed me here. I’d like to speak to the three of you.” He closed the door behind him.

“Certainly.” The woman said, after a moment. “I’m Marla. I’m the Healer. These are Sedvan and Hadrian.” The men on the beds made a few murmuring noises of greeting, both clearly curious. “If you’re wanting to speak to all of us, I imagine you’re here about the strangers that passed through yesterday.”

“Yes, that’s right.” He nodded, and after a second, took the chair the woman had begun gesturing at expectantly. He cleared his throat. “I’ve been tracking an elf travelling in the company of two humans.” He settled on, eventually. “I’m told your patients here had an altercation with them. And that the group passed through town in search of healing.”

Marla inspected him for a moment. “You heard correctly.” She said, shooting a glance at the men, Sedvan and Hadrian. They seemed content to keep quiet and watch for now, and she continued. “I never saw the elf personally. The two boys were the only ones that came to see me, and we spoke for quite some time on a medical matter.” She fixed him with a level stare. “And – Corvus, was it? If you expect me to discuss the details of that meeting with you, I will need to see some sort of official documentation. I take my vows very seriously, and as you may know, confidentiality is included within their mandate.”

He hesitated.

Whatever had been discussed with this Healer could very well be important to know. His orders weren’t exactly _confidential,_ but…they were potentially sensitive. He considered it for a few seconds, then bowed his head in acceptance. He reached into one of his many pockets and rifled through the papers until he found the official orders General Amaya had issued him with, unrolling the paper carefully and handing it across the table.

The Healer accepted the paper and read over it. Her eyebrows shot up, and she passed it back. “…Well then. I am at your service.” She said, and glanced over at her patients again. “We’ll have to go speak away from prying ears.”

Both men immediately protested. “Aw, come on, missus Healer.” Hadrian complained beseechingly. “That elf attacked us, didn’t she? We should get to hear about it.”

“I will not break patient confidentiality for the sake of your _nosiness_ , master Hadrian.” She said severely, levelling a stern finger in his direction. Then she exhaled, and with what looked like visible effort, pushed herself up from the table to her feet. He watched with interest, marking the evident pain and difficulty that movement held for her. An old injury, perhaps? Or, more likely, some sort of chronic condition. “With me, if you please.” She said to Corvus, and hobbled her way towards the door at the back of the room.

He rose and followed her through to what seemed to be personal living quarters, including a small kitchen and table-and-chairs set of its own. She collapsed at this with evident relief, and motioned him to sit opposite her.

“Mind, we’ll have to keep our voices low, or those insufferable sods will certainly eavesdrop.” She said, shaking her head. “But this is about as secure as the conversation can get. Now, what did you want to know?”

He considered his answer for a moment. “Descriptions and impressions of the boys who spoke to you. Any details or identifying information you could offer. And what they were here to speak to you about.”

She made a pensive noise. “Well, at the very least, they were unusual enough that I ought to remember the whole thing well enough.” She said, and held quiet for several seconds, plainly arranging her thoughts. “The boys were of different ages. The elder had brown hair, smooth, and pale skin. Green eyes. I’d estimate him around fifteen years, possibly a year or two younger. The younger was darker-skinned, with remarkable pale blue eyes. Dark hair as well, but big and puffy. Same hair type as your own, in fact, though certainly not styled the same. I’d estimate him as no older than eleven years, perhaps.”

Corvus breathed carefully, pulse anxious in his throat. It all _matched._ “Anything else?” He asked, trying not to betray his nerves. “Did they introduce themselves, or give away any personal information?”

Marla shot him a narrow-eyed look that suggested she very well saw his concern. “They didn’t introduce themselves, and I chose not to press them on it. I gathered from speaking to them that they had no money and no adults to care for them, and that they had only come to Verdorn for the sake of looking for a Healer.” She paused. “I assumed them to be brothers from the way they behaved, and when I said so, they didn’t correct me. Whether or not that was true, though, is anyone’s guess.” She thought for a second. “The elder boy did call the younger by something once, though. Some sort of nickname? Something like Ed. Or Ess. Along those lines.”

He inhaled, sharply, fists clenching in his lap. “…Anything else?” he pressed, a little stiffly. “Were they wearing any identifying marks? Anything unusual?”

“They wore quite fine clothing. High-quality, with good dyes.” She said thoughtfully. “It was a little dusty, perhaps, but noticeable. The younger boy carried a bag with the Towers on it. The elder boy was wearing a large book on a strap – he took notes in it, at one point. I saw glimpses of drawings inside it, I think.”

He could feel his fingers trembling a little. “Right.” He said, a little hoarsely. The woman stared at him.

After a few seconds, exasperated, she said “Look, master Corvus, I’m no fool. It’s obvious you know something more than you’re telling me. If you would dispense with the secrecy and _tell_ me what you’re looking for, I’m sure I could be of considerably greater help to you.”

Corvus breathed, and considered it. Eventually he said “This is a matter of great sensitivity, you understand.”

“I’m a _Healer,_ boy.” She told him, unimpressed. “If I don’t have confidentiality carved into my bones by now, then we might as well burn the Guild down as worthless.”

“I understand.” He said, a little grimly, and took a deep breath. “You saw from the official orders that the elf I’m pursuing was one of the assassins to attack the capital. But this one in particular was seen pursuing Prince Callum, at the last known sighting of him. She was later spotted at a location where the Princes were expected to arrive. When they failed to appear, it was assumed that she’d killed them.”

The woman listened, and then sat back, heavily. “You’re pursuing the one who killed the Princes.” She said, voice thick with the weight of a nation’s grief. And then she paused. “…You’re pursuing an elf _thought_ to have killed the Princes,” She said, in a new tone, eyes widening, as her evidently-sharp mind raced ahead to some salient conclusions. “An elf and – and _two humans,_ boys who – oh, _bloody_ _Mercy!_ ”

He nodded at the shock dawning on her features, a little relieved at her response, as well as how quickly she’d caught on. She well understood the gravity of it, then. “I’ve been hesitant to confirm the elf’s human entourage as the Princes until now. It’s no small thing to say, that the heirs of Katolis might be alive.” He said, grave, and leaned forwards with his elbows on the table. “But – your description matches. It matches in every way. At this point I feel it’s likelier than not for-“

“-for the boys to be _princes,_ rather than random vagrant children, yes.” She interrupted, waving his words away, expression dazed. “ _Fortitude follow me._ Lord and Lady, if it’s true….” She shook her head.

“Healer, you must understand my caution now.” He said to her, and she nodded a little dazedly. “And you understand why I need to know _everything_ you can tell me. _Anything_ could be critical.”

She rubbed at her eyes, set in a face that had gone rather pale. “Of course.” She said, automatically, not-quite-attentive. Her shock was quite understandable, all things considered.

He eyed her. “What are your thoughts?” he asked, after a moment, because she was clearly having them. At the question, her eyes snapped up to meet his again, alertness returning to her bearing.

“My thoughts are that I really wish I’d insisted on meeting their ‘friend’.” She answered, and when he eyed her expectantly, she sighed and took a second to arrange a sentence. Then, in a measured tone, she said “The boys didn’t come to me for themselves, you see. They came to get advice for a friend of theirs. Female, travelling with them. A friend with, purportedly, a dark magic binding tightening on her wrist.”

Corvus straightened, astonished. “A – did you say a _dark magic binding?_ ”

She regarded him. “Not something you were aware of, then? But yes, that’s the sum of it. The boys said she’d had a spell cast on her, with the result of an unbreakable bind around one wrist that is tightening to the point of severe permanent damage. They came to ask for help on how to deal with the symptoms, or the pain.” She opened her mouth to continue, but he held up a finger to stall her, a little overwhelmed.

“ _Dark magic,_ ” he repeated, brow heavily furrowed. The only known dark mages in Katolis proper were Lord Viren and his daughter, and they – if there had been any report of them encountering the assassin and putting a spell on her, _surely_ he’d have heard?

So…what did it mean? What _could_ it mean?

He was following the trail of three people, one of whom was certainly the elf spotted at the Banther Lodge. The other two were now confirmed with reasonable certainty as the Princes. In all likelihood, there was no way the Princes would be soliciting medical advice for someone new and unknown. It had to be the elf. So, if the elf had a dark magic binding on her wrist, and there were only two dark mages who could have done it, and they hadn’t _said anything –_ what did that mean?

 _Lord Viren isn’t telling us everything,_ he thought to himself, grimly, and knew he had to put it in his report. If the Lord Protector was withholding potentially critical information…well, it wasn’t a good sign. He’d been with the Standing Battalion for long enough to pick up the gist of the General’s opinion on the man, so it probably wouldn’t surprise her to hear that there were ulterior motives at work here.

He exhaled, shook his head, and returned to the matter at hand, with a quick apology for his lengthy silence. “My apologies. You’ve given me a lot to think about. Please, tell me everything you discussed with them.”

The Healer eyed him for a few seconds, but obligingly related the boys’ descriptions of their ‘friend’s’ issues, as well as the advice she’d given them, and the medication. He noted with interest the fact that the younger brother – _Prince Ezran,_ for Mercy’s sake – had elected to leave when the discussion became especially grisly, and the Healer’s estimates on the time remaining for the elf’s hand.

“So she’s essentially working one-handed now, I imagine.” He concluded, when she was done, and nodded briskly to himself. From the reports from the Lodge, this elf was a dual-wielder. Her hand’s condition represented a very exploitable weakness – something to aim for, even. And if she was taking the lilium, even better: it would dull her reaction time considerably.

It was valuable intelligence, to be sure. He exhaled, and then opened his mouth to question the healer on a topic he knew he must. “Healer Marla,” he said, slowly, seriously enough that the woman straightened a little to listen. “Would you say it seemed like the boys were being coerced to speak with you?”

She blinked, a little startled, and thought. “Well…no.” She answered, just as slowly. “No, I wouldn’t say so. They seemed worried, more than anything else. Genuinely so. The elder boy was obviously distressed, when I gave him directives on performing a field-amputation.”

His brow furrowed. “And it couldn’t have been distress motivated by fear?”

She looked at him archly. “Certainly it _was_ motivated by fear, but I don’t think it was fear _of_ his companion, if that’s what you’re implying.” She said, a touch impatiently. “Look, master Corvus, I understand no more than you how a prince comes to have care for an elf that killed his father, but it obviously exists. Or rather, I _do_ understand, and so should you, and if you ignore it you’ll have more than the elf to deal with.”

Corvus sighed, a little wearily. He supposed it made sense that a Healer would know of the concept. “You think they have captives’ accord.”

“Don’t you?” She retorted, folding her arms. “Admittedly, you know more of the situation than I do, but if the _friend_ they referred to really is one of the elves that attacked their castle…” She shook her head.

“I’m trying _not_ to jump to conclusions here, Healer.” He said, rubbing at his temples, and considered for a moment whether it was entirely safe to speak his thoughts with her further. Getting information was one thing, but he barely knew the woman, and Healer or not – this was sensitive information. But, he supposed, his thoughts were hardly more potentially damaging than what she already knew. He sighed.

From what he’d seen of the campsites, the Princes had relatively free reign of them. Given the information about the elf’s hand, it had gone from _likely_ to _certain_ that the elf was having them perform tasks around the camp, but…

“Can you think of a genuine reason why the Princes might genuinely have built a friendship with this elf, rather than a mockery of it born in captivity?” He asked her, eventually, because he was having a hard time finding an answer with only his own thoughts to lean on.

It was well-known among soldiers – and apparently Healers – that captives held for long periods might form a rapport with their captors, forming affections and loyalties even under threat and duress. There were known incidents of captive soldiers even _defending_ their captors, when the rescue parties came, and those were trained fighters – adults who had been part of vested military action against the people that captured them. The princes were only _boys –_ how much more vulnerable would they be to this sort of play on their sympathies?

It was the obvious explanation for the worry the Healer had observed in the boys. But obvious answers weren’t always the correct ones, and it was his duty to think of everything that could have an impact on his mission.

The Healer’s mouth opened, then closed. After a considerable pause, she said “I think that no friendship born in captivity can be genuine, so, I suppose….” She stopped again, brow heavily furrowed, and voice pensive. “I suppose, what you should rather ask…is whether you’re certain the princes are captives.”

He blinked, nonplussed, and she continued into his silence.

“If they _are_ captives, then obviously they have captives’ accord, and that’s that. If they’re not, then it could be genuine friendship.” She shrugged. “Personally, I think that latter option is about as likely as Mayor Dallin sprouting wings and moving to Xadia, but you’ll know better than I do.”

Corvus tried to speak, but then stopped short, utterly flummoxed. He frowned past his growing headache, and did his best to _think._ He had to consider every option. He had to assess every risk. Was it _reasonable,_ or even _plausible,_ to assume that the Princes could be genuine friends with an elf?

His gut response was _no, absolutely not._ His next three thoughts were also _no, absolutely not._ And when he forced himself to think about it further, it didn’t seem any likelier then, either.

The elf was part of a team that had assassinated the King, and that was incontrovertible fact. The Princes – Callum, at the very least – had been aware of the threat of the assassination, and that it was the reason behind their relocation. Under those circumstances, could he imagine any situation in which they willingly agreed to traipse across the Kingdom in the company of an elf assassin?

…No. No he couldn’t. Nothing genuine and uncoerced, in any case. Plausibly, they might agree to go with the elf if she’d held some threat over them – the Kingdom’s safety, or their own safety, for example – in which case it could not be called ‘willing’.  Perhaps she’d lied to them, conjuring some story that led them to follow her to Xadia, and that could not be called ‘willing’ either.

In the end, no matter how he tried, he couldn’t fathom any good, genuine reason for two Princes of Katolis to flee in secrecy with an assassin of Xadia. If it were anything legitimate, he’d expect them to entreat the aid of General Amaya, or at the very least send some word of their safety. In no world could he imagine their willingly allowing the Kingdom and their _only remaining family_ to think them dead. It was inconceivable.

He sighed. “Captive’s accord, then.” He conceded, wearily, and closed his eyes. _What a mess,_ he thought, and tried to muster his resolve.

So, now he was on the trail of an elf and two princes who thought she was their friend. Whether they’d been lied to, or simply developed an accord with her despite the circumstances of an ‘honest’ captivity, this could be…difficult.

They might not be receptive to rescue attempts. They might try to escape _him,_ rather than her, if he gave them the opportunity to flee. They might, if things were sufficiently bad, even try to defend the elf – and while they might only be boys, and he doubted an elf would let Prince Callum arm himself, that was still a complication he certainly dreaded the thought of.

So, what should he do? Attack in stealth, to capture the elf and bring her to General Amaya to have the truth discerned? Try to _talk_ to the party of three, and risk their escaping him?

Attack, and the Princes might easily think him an enemy, even if their rapport with the elf wasn’t too advanced. They might interfere. Might work against him. Unite against a common enemy, and deepen their false camaraderie in so doing.

Try to talk to them peacefully, and they might refuse, and then he’d have sacrificed the element of surprise. And if the elf’s orders didn’t necessarily require delivery of the princes to Xadia _alive…_

He stilled at the thought, ice settling into his veins.

He preferred diplomatic resolutions where they could be found. Peaceful options. But, as he thought through the potential consequences of open diplomacy _here,_ with an elf that had his Princes at her mercy…No, it was nice to think of non-violent approaches to conflict resolution, but he absolutely couldn’t risk what might go wrong.

Hostages were more valuable alive, so the elf likely wouldn’t slay them unless pressed…but taking hostages was in itself a statement of willingness to harm them, and he didn’t know what the elf’s orders were. For all he knew, she might consider Prince Callum expendable, what with Prince Ezran the heir to the Kingdom – if he approached under peaceful terms, she’d certainly be close enough to the boys and have enough warning to cause irreparable harm.

For a moment, Corvus imagined reporting such a thing to General Amaya. His blood ran cold at the mere inkling of the thought.

He opened his eyes, decision made. He’d have to ambush the elf, and keep her away from the Princes at all costs. Ideally, he’d capture her alive, and figure out the truth of the situation from there onwards. He always preferred the merciful option where it was available. But, in the end…

In the end, this elf was leading his Princes through harsh terrain towards enemy territory, having attacked multiple citizens of the Kingdom and participated in an assassination of its monarch…and that was not a situation that invited leniency. If he had to kill her to ensure the Princes’ safety, then so be it.

He pushed himself back from the table. “You’ve been a considerable help, Healer.” He said to her, and bowed with all due formality. “Thank you for your information.”

She regarded him evenly. “You’ve come to a decision.” She noted.

“Yes.”

“I won’t ask you for details. I suspect you’ve already told me more than is wise.” She rose, carefully and with obvious effort, to her feet. “Instead, I’ll only wish you luck. I assume you’ll want to interrogate masters Sedvan and Hadrian?” He nodded curtly, and she led him back across the room to the door, unlatching it and opening it with unusual haste. She poked her head through and said, in a louder voice than the low tones they’d been conversing in, “I’m pleased but admittedly surprised to see you both where you ought to be, you young devils. I’d half expected to find you with your ears pressed against the door.”

Corvus followed the Healer, allowing some reluctant amusement to lift him from his dour thoughts, and watched one of the men in the beds clutch at his chest as though mortally wounded. “I am shocked, _shocked,_ at your insinuations, Healer.” He pronounced, with great dignity. “To even _suggest_ that we would eavesdrop on official business of the Standing Battalion-“

“And I’m sure the still-circulating news of a certain unnamed elder’s embarrassing rash had nothing to do with your remarkably coincidental presence outside my door two weeks ago, is that it?” The Healer inquired, eyebrow raised, as she passed into the room and promptly reclaimed her seat at the room’s table.

Solemnly, the man pronounced “Just so, Healer.”

“I’m sure. And if you’re so well-behaved, you can sit and answer master Corvus’ questions for him before he leaves.”

More than capable of taking a cue, Corvus slipped through the doorway and went to occupy the seat at the nearest bedside, already compiling questions in his mind. “I’m told you encountered the elf’s group this morning?” he opened with, and watched both men nod.

“It was early.” The first man, Sedvan, began. “We’d not had much luck on the hunt yet, just bagged a couple of pigeons, but then we smelled wood-smoke nearby….”

Question by question, Corvus drew the entire story out of the two young hunters, and then pressed on to extricate every detail he could about the physical states of the assailants, their behaviour, the minutiae of their interactions…

In the end, the men’s descriptions of the human boys, again, matched the others perfectly, and were a dead fit for the Princes. Even more damningly, the elf had outright referred to the elder boy as ‘Callum’. The elf had apparently enlisted his help in tying up the hunters, ordering him around and muttering disparaging things about humans. She’d evidently been in good enough physical condition to defeat the hunters with ease, but had not used any weapons, and evidently wasn’t completely up for fine motor tasks involving both hands.

Prince Ezran – because there was little use denying that these were the Princes, now – had emerged from the tent sometime after Sedvan had been tied up and Hadrian was starting to recover from the blow to his nape. The men admitted to being a little too panicked to pick up on fine detail, but to their memory, both humans had seemed healthy enough, and they certainly had not been restrained.

Corvus retrieved directions to the elf’s campsite from the men, and then had exhausted everything of use they had to offer. “Thank you for your help.” He said to them, and rose at last to leave.

He nodded to the Healer, who had been probably the most incisive and helpful witness he’d ever had the fortune of interrogating. She nodded back, and said “Fortune follow you, and Prudence guide your feet.”

He accepted the blessings with a grave bow, bade her farewell, and closed the door behind him. The first thing he saw, out of the corner of his eye, was the familiar roof of the House of Paragons, so very close by. Perhaps it was just the Healer’s words, putting them in mind, but he hesitated at the sight of it.

He had a long way to go, and an urgent mission.

…but the House was right in front of him. And he needn’t linger. Just…stop by, and perhaps take some of the virtue the House enshrined along with him when he left. Corvus warred with himself, but only for a span of seconds. Mindful of every delay, he slipped across the bare distance separating him from the House’s door, and pushed it open.

The interior was dark and candle-lit, like nearly every House he’d stepped within. Its hall was not large, which he should have expected from the exterior – but it was still startlingly small, in contrast to what he’d grown used to in the large cities he’d been passing through for years. At the end of the room was the usual raised podium where a priest might stand, though for now there seemed to be no priest in residence. He glanced at the statues lining the walls, each with their little altar and brazier of flame, and saw only the greater six – none of the smaller Paragons – and the statues themselves were barely nine feet tall, hewn from the mountain’s native granite. But that was well enough. He passed by the statues of Justice and Valor and fell, after a second of consideration, at the feet of Prudence.

The statues here were rougher, with less detail than you might see in the Houses of larger settlements, but he could recognise Prudence well enough. There was the mirror in her hand, the snake around her opposite wrist, and that same look of thoughtful severity in her carved features as they stared down at him. He had no candle to light for her, but nonetheless, he could feel her eyes upon him as he closed his own.

 _Let the decisions I make be the right ones._ He prayed to her, with a touch of desperation. _Let them not be mistakes that lead the kingdom to ruin._

He’d tried. He’d tried to think of the best thing to do, to reason, to truly _think_ as clearly and objectively as he could about the situation he was faced with…and if there was a better option, he couldn’t see it. The Lady Prudence valued caution, and reason, and applying the fullest extent of one’s insight into the choices one made. He prayed that he’d done enough.

There was a lot that he did not know. But, in the end, there was little that he could do except draw from the information he _did_ have. The pressure of the situation was immense, and he doubted very much that he would hear anything from the General before he had to act. He was on his own.

He exhaled, head still lowered to Prudence, and then slowly rose up. Receded, with all due respect, from her effigy, and then passed quietly from the hall.

Corvus looked around, to get his bearings, and then set himself half-running out of town up to the river his quarry had strayed so close to. He had to find the willows, and then – then, finding the trail would be simple. He was mere hours behind them, now. If he hurried…or, even, if he _didn’t_ hurry…he’d catch up to them. Soon. It would more than likely be the middle of the night by the time he caught up, but…that was alright. That was more than worth it, to finally find his quarry.

He drew deep breaths to quench the worry beating in his heart, and moved on.

However this ended, it would end tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Notes:**
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks to Neceros for pre-reading and offering feedback for the last couple chapters while my usual editor has been busy. Thanks to everyone who commented, bookmarked, or left kudos – it’s nice to see my effort project getting more attention.
> 
> Chapter 13 is near complete. I would expect it to be posted on Friday or Saturday this week – the 6th or 7th of December.
> 
>  **On Rayllum:**
> 
> 1 Here we see the difference in self-awareness levels (and possibly also the denial levels) between Callum and Rayla. Because Callum is like “hm I wonder why I’m feeling all blushy and awkward about this? Nope, can’t think of anything, welp, guess I’m just weird” whereas Rayla takes one look at her feelings and is like “oh _fuck_.”  
> 2 just because this is a slow burn doesn’t mean it’s going to take the feelings a long time to happen. Just means…well, that they’re going to take their sweet time getting their shit together. That said, Rayla did surprise me a little by figuring things out this early.  
> 3 welcome to Ezran being a shipper-on-deck. If you look closely, you can see the precise moment he’s like oh, and also the precise moment he decides to stir shit. 
> 
> **Unreliable narrators:**
> 
> Most people will unconsciously run with assumptions that they made or that were prompted by subtle word choices a very long way. Marla, in this chapter, is entirely unaware that the boys themselves never actually mentioned that it was dark magic; she simply assumed, and then failed to encounter any information that would make her question it. Corvus, similarly, would have no reason to think that the binding would be anything other than dark magic – after all, it would make absolutely no sense for the elves to disable themselves, would it? Even Viren, who is aware of Moonshadow assassin philosophies, doesn’t seem to canonically know anything about Runaan’s binding, so I sincerely doubt Corvus would know anything Viren doesn’t. As such, Marla’s unwitting misinformation has led him to some interesting conclusions. 
> 
> Similarly, Corvus has done some very serious and rational thinking about the boys’ situation with Rayla, and without the knowledge of the egg, has absolutely no reason to come to an optimistic view of the whole affair. Even Claudia in canon, who knows about the egg and saw Callum and Ezran help Rayla, assumes that the boys were kidnapped or coerced. Given he’s working with much less information than her, Corvus’ conclusions aren’t surprising.
> 
> It’s quite fun to play through the thought processes and reasoning of characters working with incomplete information. 
> 
> **Psychology note:** In this chapter, Corvus and Marla talk about something called ‘captives’ accord’, which is what we would call ‘Stockholm Syndrome’. 
> 
> **Worldbuilding note:** We see the Healer Marla again in this chapter, with further reference to the Guild and her vows. I’ll do more in-depth worldbuilding on this most likely in the notes of chapter 14 or 15, but briefly put: Healers, with the capital ‘h’, are trained and graduated from the Guild of Mercy in Duren. They are the most highly respected medical professionals in the Pentarchy, and take binding vows to Mercy before they are allowed to graduate. Other types of medical professional, called healers, doctors, and medics, exist in the Pentarchy in far greater numbers.


	13. The Thundersnow i

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Corvus finally, finally catches up with the elf he’s been tracking…and her hostages, the two Princes of Katolis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** injuries, blood, broken bones, concussion, severe threat, wound treatment, and more wound treatment.

It was late, almost approaching dawn, when he finally, _finally_ caught up with the trail. It concluded at a clearing near the edge of a cliff, well-suited for a campsite, bearing the remnants of the previous night’s campfire, and a familiar tent standing placidly some distance away from it. He stared at its shape through the windblown trees, and exhaled shakily. He’d finally _found_ them. He’d caught up.

He ignored the exhaustion burning behind his eyes with the ease of discipline and experience, and considered his next move, pulling his scarf up against his neck to shield it from the wind.

There was no sign of anyone outside of the tent, so….the elf must sleep in the tent with them, then. He’d need to wait for her to leave it, get her a safe enough distance from the boys that he could strike. He couldn’t risk what she might do if she realised he was here with the princes in grabbing distance. But how long would he have to wait? The hunters had reported finding them awake quite early in the morning, not long after dawn…should he wait? Surely, out of a group composed of two untrained princes and an elven assassin, the assassin would wake first.

He eyed the campsite with narrow eyes, and the cliff it was arrayed against. The cliffside made their camp a little more defensible, perhaps. It reduced the number of directions he could approach from, or prepare an ambush from. But it also reduced the number of directions they could escape to, if she tried to take the boys and flee. That was good. The cliffside was also, undeniably, a hazard – one he could potentially use, and one he’d have to be wary of.

Corvus settled in to think, quiet in the shadows of a tall tree. He stared at its branches, blowing in the increasingly-blustering winds, and considered the wind’s direction. He was upwind of the camp, it seemed, which…probably wasn’t ideal. He hadn’t heard anything about elves having superior senses of smell, but…it wasn’t worth the risk. His eyes tracked a path around the campsite that would bring him – if not actually downwind – into a better position relative to his adversary, and then he quietly executed it, feet padding as close to soundless as he could manage.

When he’d settled again, behind a new tree, he continued his observations from the new angle. Not much new to see, in this sort of dark. He peered up at the sky, troubled. There was only the barest trace of light there, but enough to see the roiling clouds. When it had rained the other day, it had seemed an isolated shower, and the sky had cleared afterwards, but…the weather could be unpredictable in the mountains. It could turn quickly…and the clouds gathering now looked uncomfortably heavy. He thought uneasily on how difficult it would be to track his quarry through a storm, and exhaled quietly.

He’d have to get this right the first time. Failure wasn’t an option. Not when it could get one or both of the princes killed, and allow the elf’s escape into the cover of a mountain storm.

But he’d be at a disadvantage, fighting in this sort of dark. He’d be better off waiting at least fifteen minutes, for the dawn to ebb closer. So he shuffled into the shadows of the tree, eyes running again and again over the campsite, and then resting on the tent as he waited. It had been pitched well, despite it being at minimum a two-person job. With the elf being reduced to one hand, she surely had the boys working at it, but that was nothing he’d not already guessed. He noted, sharp-eyed, the gentle illumination that ebbed around its doors, as if something within were lighting and dimming on a regular cycle. The glow-toad, perhaps? Or some Xadian artefact?

Moonshadow elves were meant to have exceptionally keen senses. Their hearing, in particular, was said to be especially sensitive. He kept as quiet as he could, breath hushed and movements stilled until the howl of the rising winds swallowed the sound of his own breathing. That was an advantage of the weather, at least – the shriek of the winds would help him avoid being discovered prematurely. It wouldn’t do for the elf to hear him moving and grow suspicious, after all.

Something about that thought nagged at him, though. He did need the elf to leave the tent in order for him to ambush her – attacking the tent directly ran too large a risk of harming the princes, and would also leave the elf open to threaten the boys’ lives. So he _did_ need her out by herself. So, would it necessarily be a bad thing, if she heard something suspicious and came to investigate?

Obviously he wouldn’t want her heading towards his location. But…he could probably arrange something more convenient.

He eyed the cliffside, several metres from where the tent was pitched and fixed. The sky was lightening enough for him to make guesses at its appearance – it was loose and rocky, he thought, its edge composed largely of tree-needles and gravel. In all likelihood, the elf would have been hearing the sound of tiny amounts of gravel slipping off the cliffside all through the night. But, potentially, a larger noise could attract her attention. Even if she wasn’t worried about the possibility of ambush – which he doubted, given she’d left those hunters alive only a day ago – she might worry about landslides.

Corvus considered that, exhaled very softly, and then reached into the light coating of icy snow for a fist-sized rock. With a very careful, very well-measured heft, he threw it across the camp and towards the cliffside, letting it impact on the loose stones and gravel at the edge, starting a gentle clattering of tiny pebbles off the side. He could hear it even from across the camp, so the elf would undoubtedly be able to…assuming she wasn’t a heavy sleeper.

He watched the tent very carefully, and thought he saw a shadow fall across the illumination within. He waited, very still and utterly silent, to see if anything would happen. The shadow didn’t move further, but _also_ did not return to its previous state, so with careful consideration, he located and threw another stone. This one set off another clattering down the cliffside that grew astonishingly loud – he must have displaced some larger stones, this time.

He ducked behind the tree as the fabric of the tent visibly moved, the toggles on the tent doors opening with urgent motions. He only retained a narrow strip of visibility of the camp, and through that glimpse watched as the tent opened – spilling some strange blue glow out onto the cliffside – and the lithe, pale form of an elf emerged into the dim light.

Her ears were better than his. Her eyes were better than his, particularly in low light. Corvus watched, scarcely breathing, as the elf’s steps took her across the camp to investigate the cliff where he’d thrown the stones to, around twenty feet removed from his position. She was barefoot, having apparently not taken the time to procure her footwear, and wearing clothes that didn’t seem to have any particular protective value. Clothes that seemed oddly ill-fitting, from what he could see in the poor lighting. Some of what she’d stolen, perhaps? In one hand – her right – was the glinting form of a blade. The left, then, must be the bound one.

She looked around, eyes narrowed, and he saw them glinting with a faint inhuman luminescence.

For a while, she stared in his direction, and he thought she’d somehow spotted him. Heard his breathing, perhaps, even as hushed and quiet as it was, even masked by the wind. Then her eyes swept onwards, back and forth across the treeline as she listened, the sharp shadows of her pointed ears and horns obvious in the dark-blue light that harkened the coming dawn. She did not seem inclined to move further into the treeline in her search, which was somewhat unfortunate. But she was at least a good distance from the tent, now.

Slowly, carefully, he moved his hand on the handle of his hook, gripped its chain with the other hand. He muffled the clink of metal on his armour as he shifted, ever-so-softly, into a position to throw.

The elf completed her inspection of the treeline and turned, quizzically, back towards the cliffside. He saw her back turned to him, and felt the rightness of the moment as a tense, tight anticipation in his gut, a feeling that said ‘ _now’ **-**_

In one explosive motion, he sprang out from cover and threw his hook. She whirled around immediately, eyes widening and blade rising, and only just managed to deflect his hook in time. He was already rushing her, swinging the chain back around with long practice, and interposed himself between her and the tent with a flicker of relief.

“What-“ She demanded, astonished, as he rushed at her and pressed her closer to the cliffside. She jumped away, noted the danger with an alarmed glance over her shoulder, and then flipped to the side. He pursued, throwing his hook where she’d land, and while he didn’t manage to hit her, she tripped a little on the chain-

He didn’t waste the opening; he closed the remaining distance between them, and drew them into a melee. He pulled his hook back, she raised her blade, and the metallic retort of their first clash rang across the clearing.

As the reports had indicated, the elf fought with a grace and facility of movement that spoke of great skill, in addition to obvious strength and speed. But just as obvious was that she was _not_ used to fighting one-handed, and was still working with reflexes that depended upon the use of _two_ weapons and _two_ working hands. There was a jerkiness to her parries and strikes, a moment in every swing where she held back from moving her left arm, a _hesitation._ Less experienced fighters might have overlooked it, but it might as well have been a beacon to him, when he’d come into the fight on the watch for it. It was a good sign.

Fast-paced fights like this were things of instinct – it was no exchange of trebuchet-fire across a siege ground, or even the carefully-balanced trajectories of archers shooting at each other. It was an exchange of blows encompassing every second, with no time for thought, no time for hesitation, no time for _mistakes –_ and the elf was making a lot of mistakes, and hesitating even more.

Normally, against an opponent as skilled as this one, Corvus would keep his distance as much as possible, throw his hook, try to impede her mobility. Instead, he felt fairly confident in rushing her as she tried to disengage, wielding the point of his hook like a particularly short-range spear, slashing with the sharp points of the four hooks. She dodged and parried with alarming speed and agility, but – he was _sure,_ he just had to press a little, and her careful last-second corrections would fall apart-

There! She raised her bad hand in a reflexive motion to parry his blow, and jerked it back too late when she realised its lack of a weapon – the narrow blade at the centre of his hook stabbed through her stolen clothing and pierced the flesh above the edge of her collarbone. She cried out, either from pain or surprise, and jerked away in time to stop it going too deep – she back-flipped away from him, retreating wide-eyed another three metres across the clearing. He took the opportunity to place himself solidly between her and the tent.

The princes hadn’t shown themselves yet, but with the noise, surely they’d be waking soon. He hoped they’d stay out of sight, or if not, take the opportunity to flee. He was sure, now, that the elf couldn’t contest him in her current state – she was recovering some of her wits from the surprise of his attack, perhaps, but her own reflexes were working against her. He’d certainly be able to triumph against her…so long as no complicating factors arose. Factors like allowing her access to hostages, or those hostages having developed a captives’ accord with her.

Grimly, he pressed his advantage in metallic screeches of steel-on-steel, throwing the loops of his chains to impede her at every turn. The General had mourned her nephews once. He would _not_ let it happen again.

He tried to press her ever-closer to the cliffside, but she feinted a lightning-fast blow at his neck, and used the time he spent parrying to disengage and dart around him. He followed, but she was already sprinting in the direction of the tent. His blood ran cold, icy terror prickling down his spine, and he raised his hook on its chain-

“Callum! Ezran!” She hollered, at the top of her lungs, just as his throw forced her to abort her straight-line run for the tent. He looped his chain in the air as he sprinted after her, throwing the loop around and pulling it tight – he had her for a moment, chain tightening around her legs, but she threw herself to the ground and slipped out of it with a serpentine grace.

And then two alarmed faces poked their way out of the open tent. He saw them in the corner of his eyes and froze for a second, overwhelmed anew by the evidence of their survival – it was _them,_ it was undeniably them, they were alive and well, and by all the Paragons he’d ensure they _stayed_ that way-

“ _What-“_ Stammered the younger boy, the Prince who was to be King, as the older boy uttered an incredulous _“Rayla,_ what the-“

In his distraction, the elf had got around him again, running for the boys. The terror nearly stole his breath away, blood running cold and deadly as glacier-melt, as he beheld the sight of the assassin with the blade in her hand heading for _the Princes she’d stolen-_

He’d never thrown as powerfully as he did then, the impact sending up clouds of frost and leaf-litter and crystallised snow as she dodged at the last minute, thrown off her feet by how hasty the dodge had been. He put himself between her and the Princes, stabbing out viciously and a little desperately with the hook as he withdrew it.

“Run, my Princes!” he cried, with what breath he had to spare, her eyes widened at that, offering just enough surprise, just enough hesitation that-

-Finally, _finally_ he managed to get the chain around her, yanking it tight around her middle and quelling her attempts to evade him again. He lunged at her, and unable to escape, she fought back, desperation bleeding swiftly into her motions.

She seemed to figure that, if she was trapped, she might as well embrace the close-quarters combat – with what mobility she had remaining, she surged up at him from beneath his centre of gravity, nearly upending him, and certainly making him stagger-

She pressed the advantage, and grabbed him by the cloth of his sleeve with – with her _bad hand? –_ and tugged _down_ and _left_ in a way he was utterly unable to resist, already off-balance as he was – she pulled him down to the ground, then whipped the same chain he’d trapped her with around at his neck.

She might have garrotted him with it, if he’d let her complete the motion. Instead, he pulled the chain tighter around her middle, and she gasped with pain, faltering enough for him to push himself up and retrieve his hook, moving to turn the tables, to get _her_ on the ground, finally trapped and finally subdued-

“Rayla!” he heard, the voice frightened, and he recognised unhappily that the Princes had _not_ taken the opportunity to flee. He wished he knew what she’d told them, to have them so badly fooled. In any case-

He paused.

Was Prince Callum running _towards_ them? Oh _no._

He had a half-second to think some dismayed and scattered thoughts about captives’ accord, and then- “Get back!” The elf cried, which – he wouldn’t have expected, but he didn’t have a lot of time to focus on that, because the next second she executed a particularly vicious kick to somewhere exceptionally painful – he _wheezed,_ staggering back, and the elf got to her feet. Ripped viciously at the trailing edge of the chain and unwound herself, enough for her to almost, almost slip free-

Almost. But not enough.

Corvus got to his feet and straightened in time to heft the hook to attack again, and the elf was still close enough that he ought to be able to strike her directly, ought to be able to pike her with the blade of it. She saw the move coming, eyes widening, and desperately brought her blade up to parry, and again they descended into a closely-fought exchange of blows, exchange of metal, and _again_ she wasn’t quite up to the task, even more so now that he still had her entangled in his chain.

There was a moment, a critical moment, where he lunged with his hook, and she twisted aside, bringing up an arm to parry-

-but it was the wrong arm.

He saw her eyes widen with horror as she realised her mistake, but it was too late to take back. The point of the hook-blade missed her, the smooth edges of the hooks gliding over her unarmed, _unarmoured_ wrist – and then, in a sharp motion, he yanked the hook _back,_ sinking two of its points into the flesh of the arm she hadn’t meant to extend, and he _had_ her.

She cried out, one of the hooks sinking into her upper arm, the other one tearing through cloth and skin and then ripping loose with a visible spatter of blood, and he pulled the chain tight on both ends to yank her in. On that first desperate pull the remaining hook-prong, not as deeply embedded as he’d have liked, tore towards him as ripped through the flesh it clung to – it wasn’t good, it meant she wouldn’t be hooked for long, that he _had_ to take advantage of the leverage while he still could-

The cry of the elf’s name rang in two voices, now, plainly distressed, and in the rush of the exchange he’d lost track of where the Princes were-

“Stop!” Shouted Prince Callum, voice terrified, as he tried once again to draw near. There was something in his hand, but Corvus didn’t have the time to identify it – the elf he was drawing in kicked him again, solidly in the chest this time, and lashed out with her blade. He jerked back, unable to easily avoid it in such close quarters, and tried to bring his chain around to disarm her-

“Get _back,_ Callum!” The elf snapped again, face pale and sweaty, hair sticking to her skin, as she renounced her blade to him abruptly enough that he reeled with the sudden lack of resistance; desperate, she punched at his face, and when he raised his hand to defend she took his wrist and _twisted_ it, following the movement with a vicious yank on his thumb that dropped one end of the chain from his hand instantly, pain spearing up his arm.

“Just _stop!_ _Please!”_ The Prince cried again, and…he paused, brow furrowing for a second, because – maybe – maybe this _wasn’t-_

His second of indecision was firmly interrupted by the elf’s counter-assault; she rose a little with the leeway her attacks had yielded, yanked his hook from her own flesh, and pulled the rest of the chain solidly from his grip. Now, she was still entangled in his chains, but _she had them_ so it didn’t exactly help him – and then she was stabbing the hook-blade directly at his throat-

He ducked to the ground, lunged for her abandoned weapon, and surged up to meet her. He copied her move, somewhat, and with his greater weight behind the motion, he knocked her bodily from her feet – she landed on her back with a wheeze, visibly dazed, and it was more reflex than anything that had him raising her own sword above her fallen form, prepared to deal a very final blow-

He wasn’t watching Prince Callum. Later, he’d think back on that, and curse his mistake, but for now-

He had no way to prepare for the way the wind hit him, as vicious as a hammer-blow, swatting him from the loose ground like the hand of an angry god. Before he even knew what was happening, he was off his feet, off the ground, careening through the air and colliding with the earth again with a jolt that made his teeth clack together upon his tongue; his fingers fell numbly from the handle of the stolen sword. He tasted blood even as the force of his fall – and the ongoing wind – sent him rolling, skidding across the ground, and then…then the earth that he scrabbled at was rocky, and dusty, and _oh-_

Corvus felt the ground drop out beneath him as he reached the cliff-edge. Gripped, desperately, at the rough rock at the edge of it, legs dangling precipitously in thin air. But in the end, the stone was too loose. Gravel carried his fingers over the cliffside, and he fell.

 

\---

 

The spell ended, the spill of magic ebbing, and the wind stilling from his lips. He was left standing numbly, eyes fixed on the tracks that the man’s fingers had left in the ground as he tried to save himself. The smooth glass of the primal stone tingled against his hand with the memory of power – he panted, heart racing with distress, as fear and horror clawed viciously at his throat.

“Oh. Oh no.” Callum breathed, wide-eyed, as he stared at the cliff edge that he’d just – where – that he’d just _blown someone off of-_ “Oh no, no no…”

For those moments, the cliff was all he could seem to see. The man falling over the edge, caught in _his_ spell, was all he could think about, all he could remember, as horror rose thick in his throat like bile-

And then Rayla moved, struggling to push herself up.

His eyes flew to her, wide and terrified, and he saw her – saw the chain still brutally tight about her waist, saw her clutching tightly at her upper arm, saw her expression contorted into a rictus of pain-

He was scrambling towards her before he knew what he was doing, legs unsteady and whole body trembling. He tripped on the way over to her, nearly falling, but managed to stay upright for long enough that he fell to the ground beside her, setting the primal stone down among the rocks within a second. “Rayla!” He cried, hands outstretched and shaking as he settled in front of her. “Are you – is it – is something-“

She looked up at him then, eyes opening just enough for him to see the traces of tears gathering at their edges, to see the pain bright in her eyes. Her fingers clenched around her arm, and – and when he looked down, he could see darker colour spreading through the fabric, see dark smears on the skin of her hand…

For a second, he was frozen, the fear and panic taking all breath and motion and agency from him. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. Only yesterday there’d been a miracle that ought to have made her safe, and now – now-

“You’re _hurt._ ” Ezran’s voice came from beside him, close enough to shock Callum out of his single-minded terror, and his head jerked upwards to see his brother reaching out desperately for her free hand. “You’re – you’re _bleeding,_ Rayla, are you – are you-“ he sniffed, and broke off, shoulders shaking as the fear fought its way out of him too, setting him to tears. He couldn’t quite seem to finish his question.

 _Bleeding,_ Callum processed, still numb with the terror and horror of the last few minutes, and then- “Let me _see._ ” He pleaded, voice thin and shaky, and he found himself reaching out to where she’d clamped her hand.

“I-“ She began, and then stopped, voice distressed. She exhaled, a quick and deliberate puff, as though to clear her head or calm herself. In what looked like a forced, deliberate motion, she loosened her fingers from her arm.

It was _dark_ , still, with the sun lurking just below the horizon. Too dark for him to have enough light to work with. He leaned forwards, fingers careful, and… “Ezran.” He murmured, his own voice sounding faint and faraway. “Get Bait. I need light. I need to _see._ ”

His brother was up and sprinting for the tent in a flash, and Rayla breathed, looking up and towards the cliff as she struggled to find words. “Is he – that human-“ She managed, and then hissed with pain as he gingerly pulled a scrap of fabric away from her wound. “What did – is he still-“

“I don’t know.” He said, tersely, as the sight of the man tumbling over the cliff bloomed behind his eyes. He closed them for a second, panting with distress, and then forced himself to shift the topic to something – maybe not _less_ upsetting, but more urgent. “I think you need to take this jacket off. Maybe the shirt too.” He told her, and didn’t feel even the vaguest insinuation of embarrassment or self-consciousness for saying so. This…this was beyond that. She was _hurt,_ and bleeding, and he _didn’t know how bad it was._

She jerked her chin down in a rough nod, and brought her fingers across to fumble at her buttons, opening the jacket up until she reached the chains, still tight around her. “Shit.” She muttered, distractedly, as she pulled shakily at the metal links. “Callum, can you-“

“Chains. Right.” He said, in a hoarse croak, and lowered his hands to help her unwind the chain from around her middle. Both of them were trembling and shaking and breathing too-rapidly, but together they had the thing almost completely unwound by the time Ezran returned, Bait’s light bouncing as he ran at them.

“I got Bait.” He reported, urgently, as he planted himself down beside them. “How is it? What are you – oh.” He paused for a split second as he put Bait to the side, the toad settling with his skin an unhappy black and his blue spots lit up. Then Ezran was reaching out to help them, and they pooled the chains and hook off to the side.

Together, he and Ezran helped Rayla gingerly out of the ruined shirt jacket, and then the same for the sleeveless shirt, opening it to the paler and somewhat bloodied undershirt beneath. It, at least, was similarly sleeveless. “ _Mercy._ ” Callum muttered, as they pulled the shirt carefully out over her arms. The undershirt was small enough to show the blood around her left shoulder, too- “Ez, get my bag, it has the field-healing kit.”

“Right!” Ez said, scrambling up again, and running back across their profaned campsite as quickly as his legs could carry him.

“First aid kit.” Rayla corrected, distractedly, as she stared at her arm. Uninhibited by the fabric of the jacket sleeve, it had begun to weep sanguine rivulets down her skin, pooling in the crook of her elbow. “That’s…a lot of blood.” A bead of crimson spilled over, and traced a dark line along her wrist.

He had, in fact, been trying not to think about that too hard, but that was a little difficult to do when he was meant to be _helping_ her. “…It probably looks worse than it is.” He reasoned, as much to reassure himself as her, and he looked over her injuries as clinically as he possibly could. He did, increasingly, feel distant and numb in a way that muted the terror a little, but he wasn’t sure how much help that was, when his hands still shook and his heart still raced so quickly.

He swallowed, assessing the lines of ravaged flesh. Carefully, he pulled the collar of her undershirt back to look at the wound bleeding through it. “You’ve got two nasty cuts on your arm. And a smallish stab on your shoulder.” He noted, wary of touching her skin too close to the wounds when his hands weren’t clean. Carefully, he removed his gloves and then clamped one hand further up her arm from the highest cut, watching the blood trickle slowly from the wounds. He couldn’t quite summon the presence of mind to tell whether applying pressure had slowed it or not. He swallowed. “…Anywhere else hurt?” He managed, voice strained.

“Waist.” She said, tightly, eyes roving over the cliff edge. “Where he got me with the chains. No open wounds there though. Callum, do we have _time_ for this? What if he just climbs back over the cliff again?”

“We need to at least put _some_ kind of dressing on these.” He insisted, throat tightening at the reminder of the man he’d blown over the cliff. He tried to say something about that, but…couldn’t. The words abandoned him, and died on his tongue. He wanted to say he doubted their attacker would be climbing cliffs any time soon, but – but that was _too_ true. He didn’t want to – _couldn’t_ think about it. _What if I killed someone?_ He thought, numbly, and could hardly breathe past the dread.

She stared around at him, exhaling in tight puffs from the pain. Slowly, realisation dawned on her, around the haze of pain, as she seemed to process the implications of their attacker’s magic-incited fall. “…Oh.” She said, hoarsely. “You blew him _off the cliff._ Is he-“

He shuddered, terror scraping at his throat, and hissed “I _can’t think about that_ right now, Rayla.” Her eyes flickered up to his, still luminous, and her face softened with concern. Even though _she_ was the one injured and bleeding, who’d nearly _died,_ she was worrying about him _._ He swallowed again, closing his eyes briefly against the awful image of the man stood over her with the sword, ready to bring it down- “I’ve got to get these handled.” He said, with only a thin veneer of control, as he nodded jerkily at her wounds. “Everything – everything else can wait.”

She nodded, and didn’t say anything, eyes falling back to her still-bleeding arm. She winced. “If we have time…need to wash those out.” She muttered, voice thick. “See how deep they are. Clean them up.”

“Need to boil water for that.” He reminded her, tersely, and then Ezran finally reappeared with his bag. He extracted bits and pieces in a hurry, finding a stray piece of willow bark and handing it over to her instantly; she had it between her teeth in seconds.

Ezran knelt anxiously beside them, holding Bait up, as Callum rubbed his hands with alcohol and felt the sting of it spread on his bare skin. Then, with the bandages they’d boiled only yesterday, he applied careful pressure around the worst-looking wound, dabbing gently at the blood as Rayla’s shoulders stiffened and she tried very hard not to react too much to the pain. The small stab wound on her shoulder, just over her collarbone, was pretty shallow. Not worrying, compared to the two _other_ wounds on her arm. “Messy.” He muttered, almost to himself, as he got a better look at the lacerations, clearing away the worst of the blood even as he kept up the careful pressure of his hand clamped around her arm. “This was – he – he got you with his hook thing?”

“Yep.” The word was practically bitten out, her teeth clenched around the willow bark. “How deep is it?”

He squinted. “Ez, can you hold Bait up near – yeah, thanks.” With the light now shining directly on the lacerations, he could see them much better. He swallowed against his nausea, inhaling and exhaling carefully. He spoke with a careful, forced steadiness. “Lower cut, near-ish your elbow, is shorter and shallower. The one further up is longer, and it’s pretty deep.” Both cuts were _messy_. Not the neat slice of flesh parted around a blade, but of something that had been _ripped_ , jagged and uneven. And the deeper one was…kind of…gaping open a bit, allowing him to see all the fleshy layers of red, and something a bit different in one part, like – “Is there something stuck in-“ He started, then stopped. The _something_ in the small, deepest portion of the cut was vaguely yellow, though doused in blood, and…yeah, he knew what that was. “…Okay. A really tiny bit of this one is down to the fat layer.” He spoke, hands shaking horribly. Rayla hissed unhappily, peering around at her arm as though she could somehow see the depths of the wound.

Ez peered up at them from behind the glow-toad, anxious and afraid. “That’s bad, right?” He asked tentatively, eyes wide.

“It’s not great.” He answered, terse. “If we had a proper Healer around, they’d probably sew it shut. But…”

Rayla closed her eyes. “Shit.” She said, almost resigned. “We can’t stitch it. No chance. Even with the right things – I wouldn’t know how.”

He didn’t know how to stitch a wound, either. The basic field-healer’s training was mostly about how to help people live long enough to get to a _real_ Healer, who’d handle things like sutures and medication and whatever else needed doing. “…It’s only a really small bit that’s that deep.” He reasoned, moving away and reaching back to the bag. “I’ll just have to bind the wound carefully.” The bleeding, at least, did seem to be slowing down relatively quickly. He wasn’t a great judge of that sort of thing, but…it seemed to be slowing.

Her eyes flickered up to him, then back at her arm again. “Not going to rinse it out?”

“…Don’t know if there’s enough time to boil water.” He muttered. “I don’t like the idea of sticking around here too long when we just got attacked.”

She looked at him soberly for several long moments, face still drawn tight with pain, and said “One of us needs to look over the cliff. See if we…” She stopped, and cleared her throat. “…if we need to worry about that human.” He went still, hands freezing on the rolls of bandage, and Ezran stared between them uncertainly. Then she exhaled, and added “Should probably be me. My eyes work best in the dark.” Carefully, with her good hand, she drew her remaining weapon and flipped it out, quickly twisting it to pick-form. Then, shakily, she stood and turned for the cliff-edge.

Without his hand clamping down on her arm, or even hers, blood trickled in thin rivulets down her pale skin. The red that had been pooling in the crook of her elbow spilled loose, and trailed down her wrist to bloody the bandage that was already there. The sight of it made his gut clench awfully around the shape of horror.

He reached out after her in some terrified instinct, hand rising into the space between them. “Rayla…!”

“I won’t fall.” She huffed at him, hefting her weapon. “And if I do, I can hook onto the cliff wall with this. I’ll be fine.”

He rose after her, skin crawling with nerves. “You’re _bleeding._ I’ve not even got any bandages on you!”

“The bleeding isn’t _that_ heavy.” She returned, still with that strain in her voice, and stepped inexorably towards the cliff. “I’ll live long enough to _look over the edge of a rock face_ , Callum.” There was almost some ire to the words – some of the customary impatience that arose whenever they tried to coddle her too much – and he was oddly relieved to hear it. As if her ability to be cranky indicated that she’d, somehow, be perfectly okay, despite all the injuries compiling on her left arm.

He and Ezran followed closely at her heels, hovering anxiously, as she staggered heavily to the cliff and crouched at the loose earth at its end. She peered over the edge, into an inky darkness that his eyes couldn’t penetrate at all.

Evidently, it wasn’t nearly so difficult for her, because she announced almost immediately “He’s alive.”

Relief flooded him so violently he felt in danger of falling off the cliff himself. His breath escaped him in a powerful rush, and he’d already thanked Mercy in his head before he realised that a live attacker meant an attacker who might attack them again-

“He’s awake. Looking up at me.” She continued, eyes sharp and luminous. He wondered if their assailant could see their glow, even from the bottom of the cliff. “He’s not trying to get moving, though. Reckon he’s injured. His leg’s a weird shape – probably broken.”

“Is he…” Callum hesitated. “Um. Bleeding?”

She narrowed her eyes. “If he is, I can’t see it through his armour.” She concluded, as Ezran poked his head over the edge beside her, staring down. Callum couldn’t imagine that he saw any better than he did, but even so, there was something strange in his brother’s eyes as he looked towards the cliff’s base.

“…Can he hear us?” Ez asked, voice unusually sober, and spoken in a hush just short of a whisper.

Rayla shrugged. “Dunno. Not sure how bad you humans are at hearing. And he’s not saying anything.” With that, she receded from the cliff edge and took three staggering steps back towards the campsite. On the third she nearly fell, hand reflexively moving for her savaged upper arm. She swore lowly as she caught her balance, eyes rising to meet his as he hurried over to her.

“Are you _dizzy?_ ” He demanded, upon reaching her, hands hovering in the air. “Light-headed? Shaky?”

“Maybe a little. But _stop_ fussing.” She huffed, shooting him a half-hearted glare. “I’m not bleeding _that_ much.”

Callum, uncertain of exactly how much blood someone had to lose before it became dangerous, did not find this especially comforting. It had to be more than she’d lost, surely? The field-healer training had mainly mentioned blood loss as a concern if arteries were cut, or if more regular wounds didn’t stop bleeding… “…We need to get some water boiled.” He muttered, worriedly, and moved over to herd her in the direction of the burned-out campfire.

“I’ll start the fire.” Ezran said, determinedly, and shot towards their bags.

Rayla blinked. “Does he even know _how…”_ A little bemusedly, both of them watched as he extracted the flint and ran back for the fire, grabbing the remnant branches and scraping the pieces of flint against each other. They were four steps closer by the time he produced any sparks. “…Well, apparently so.”

“I guess he watched us do it enough.” Callum said, nonplussed, as he helped Rayla the rest of the way to where the incipient campfire (and Bait) was lighting up. The glow-toad croaked worriedly at them as they arrived back at the fireside, Callum hovering by Rayla’s side as she collapsed heavily onto the ground.

“Moon and stars.” She muttered, clamping her right hand back around her upper arm. “What a stupid start to a day. Didn’t I _say_ we’d get ambushed?”

He eyed her, a little too numb to get particularly amused at anything. “I’m pretty sure you said that the _other_ day.” He said anyway, with forced levity, as he went rummaging about for all the things he’d need – waterskins and dressings and scissors… “You know, when you were high on lilium, and falling asleep.”

She made a disgruntled noise, eyes straying to Ezran, who was carefully nursing the flames. “Still counts. And then yesterday some humans _did_ run into our camp, so…” She pointed out, watching the youngest member of their party for a few more moments before saying “You’re surprisingly good at that, Ez.” He _was,_ too; he was even shielding the tiny fire against the wind, sitting with his back to the angry gusts that occasionally conspired to shower them with tiny flecks of ice tossed up from the ground.

He looked up, a smile flashing briefly onto his face. “Hehe. Thanks.” He said, lighting up, if only for a second. “I’ve watched Callum do it a couple times now, you know. I did want to try, but…” That light dimmed; a shadow passed over his face. “…really, I’d have liked it better if I was lighting a fire to...cook dinner, or something. Not to boil water to wash out your horrible injuries.”

“They’re not _that_ horrible.” Rayla stated, voice firm despite the decidedly uncertain way she looked back at her arm. “Though I don’t actually know how deep the one on my shoulder is…”

“It’s not bad.” He reassured her, because it had already _mostly_ stopped bleeding, and looked considerably less dire than the others. “How’s your belly?”

Her brow furrowed, and she let go of her arm to slip the hand under her shirt, prodding gently at her side. She winced. “I think that’s going to bruise in some _really_ interesting colours.” She said, testing further up. “Floating ribs feel a bit sore, but I think they’re fine.”

Ezran blinked. “There are ribs that _float?_ ” He asked, with interest.

“That’s just what they’re called, Ez.” Callum sighed, with an eye on the fire. “I think because they’re the ones that don’t connect up in the middle? They don’t actually _float._ ”

“They’re a great target in hand-to-hand fighting.” Rayla added helpfully, voice tight with pain. “Kidneys are better, if you can hit them, but the floating ribs are good too.”

“Ooh.” Ezran expressed, with interest. “What other good weak spots are there?”

“All sorts.” She commented, managing a touch of humour even under the circumstances. “Why? You planning on hitting anyone?”

“Nah, I’m just kinda interested.” He sounded utterly, guilelessly honest. Rayla snorted, though since Callum was shuffling to the side to locate the pot and fill it with water, he couldn’t see her expression.

“Well, there’s a good few.” She said, after a moment. He glanced at her, and saw her start to point out spots on her head and neck, fingers still bloody. The crimson turned his stomach, but honestly, he was just glad Ezran had managed to distract her with something. “Hitting someone on the nose really hurts, but there’s other places too. If you can hit someone behind the ear, or on the back of the neck, that can stun them _really_ hard. Knock them out, sometimes. You can also punch them in the throat, but that one’s risky – if you hit too hard, you can kill them by accident…”

He listened with half an ear as Rayla narrated the many and varied weak points of the human (and, probably, elven) body, Ezran apparently finding this morbidity very occupying. Callum might have too, ordinarily, but he’d had _more_ than enough reminders about the intrinsic fragility and mortality of humans and elves this morning. He deliberately tuned them out as he watched the pot of water, over the fire, begin to steam.

By the time it started to boil, Rayla had moved on from detailing high-damage and stunning regions of the body to a detailed analysis of pressure points in the arms, which would apparently be spectacularly painful if pressed on with any force. When informed of the one a short distance behind the web of the thumb, Ezran promptly tried to locate it himself, and then declared _“Ow!”_ with apparent good cheer. “I think I found it.”

“Seems so.” Rayla agreed, amused, as bubbles seethed and hissed on the water’s surface. He planted a wad of clean bandage into it to sterilise, then (through a thickly-folded towel) carefully removed the pot from the fire.

“Water’s about ready.” Callum reported, looking over at his brother and Rayla. He wondered, for a second, whether Ez _was_ actually that interested in weak spots and pressure points, or whether he was just trying to distract Rayla. It could easily be both, he supposed. In any case, it seemed to have worked; she was clearly more focused on talking to Ezran than feeling her wounds. “Just got to let it cool down a bit, and then I can clean out your injuries.”

Rayla blinked, distracted from her distraction, and abruptly seemed to remember the pain of her injuries. She grimaced, eyeing the water with evident trepidation. “ _Yay_.” She grumbled, and chewed a little more viciously at the well-masticated ball of willow bark in her cheek.

He considered her for a few seconds, brow furrowed. “…You want to take a bit of lilium?” He offered, uncertainly, relatively sure that she’d refuse. “Not as much as last time. Just enough to…well, make this a bit easier.”

Predictably, she shook her head. “No way.” She denied, jaw setting in a stubborn line. “We’ve got travelling to do today. Can’t afford to be out of my head when I’m the one who knows how mountain-climbing works.”

Unfortunately, she kind of had a point. And given they’d been attacked here, they really did have to move on – he couldn’t suggest that they stay put for Rayla to have some recovery time. It wasn’t _safe_. “I guess.” He accepted, unhappily. “You should take some tonight, though. Help you sleep better.”

She eyed him. “…Maybe.” She relented, apparently less reluctant about the stuff now that her hand was no longer such a concern, and she didn’t anticipate the certainty of getting addicted to lilium. Or maybe it was just that the injuries hurt badly enough to override her concerns.

He watched the pot cool for a while, fishing the bandages out with Rayla’s hook-blade and giving them to Ez to hold. He tested the temperature of the water, grimaced, and deemed it probably cool enough for purpose. “Right.” He said, a little grimly. “I think we’d better move away from the campfire for this. Bait, you come too, I’ll need your light.”

The toad croaked worriedly at him, but obligingly hopped over as Callum stood carrying the pot of water with him. He watched Rayla fretfully as she followed suit, a grimace on her face, and they proceeded a couple of metres from the fire. Ezran, a little belatedly, came over to watch, settling beside Rayla as she knelt down, holding her arm out and away from her body. Just as he had when they’d removed the gauntlet, he took her right hand and squeezed it supportively. “Go on.” Rayla muttered to Callum, through clenched teeth, when he’d lingered too long with the heavy pot of water. “Just get it over with.”

He hesitated, and nodded jerkily. Then, carefully, he poured the still-hot water into her wounds, as evenly as he could. She hissed at the touch of the water, eyes clamping shut and her hand squeezing around Ezran’s, her teeth clenched tightly and breath puffing out noisily from her nose. “Just a bit more.” He murmured, almost reflexively, as he paused for a second to look at the injuries, and then poured more water over. Cleaning out the small stab on her shoulder was trickier, given its placement, and thoroughly soaked her undershirt, but…well, there wasn’t a lot to do about that.

He saw Ezran wince at the vice-grip Rayla had on his hand, and tried not to look at her face. It was getting harder and harder to see her in pain, and – he had to focus. He concentrated on pouring the water over her wounds, washing out the blood and (hopefully) every trace of dust or grit or cloth-fibres that might contaminate the wounds. Cleaned out, it was alarmingly obvious how deep the worst wound was, and he couldn’t help but grimace at the sight of it, and the little pale yellow sliver visible in its depths.

He’d just…have to be careful. Very, very careful. The last thing Rayla needed on top of her bound hand and these wounds was _infected_ wounds. He’d have to clean them out daily – but, carefully, or they wouldn’t heal…

Putting the water aside, he reached for clean bandage and the alcohol, and gingerly dabbed around the wounds with it – which were already filling with blood again – before going about the process of bandaging everything up as tightly as he dared. He needed to bandage her well enough to help the bleeding stop, but if he bandaged _too_ tightly that would make the circulation to her hand even worse, and – it was all just _awful._

“If you keep this up you’re gonna have more scar than arm.” He muttered to her, tying the bandage off, and she let out a surprised snorting sound.

She peered at her arm, where there were now bandages stretching almost the entire span above her elbow, and where the bandage on her wrist and finger had gone bloody. “…You know, I expected to get scars eventually.” She said, dubiously, as she considered his words, and moved her head to allow him to tie a sort of bandage-sling around her neck and under her armpit to hold the shoulder-bandage in place. “But…maybe not this many on my _first mission._ ”

“I should change your wrist bandages too. They’re all bloody now.” He said, instead of an answer to her comment, and went to untie that. “Good job there’s still some water left.”

“ _Yay._ ” Rayla sighed, dryly, and the sass actually made him feel a little better. She glanced aside at Ezran, and dropped his hand. “Ez – if you can, go get the tent packed up? I want to get going as soon as this is done. But be careful of the wind – take the poles out of the tent _before_ the pegs, alright?”

He blinked at her for a second, then nodded sharply, scrambling up on his little legs. “Right!” he said, and darted off across the campsite. Bait croaked forlornly after him, but stayed put, radiating light for Callum to work by.

Despite all the distracting clattering and noise of Ezran sorting out the tent, Callum changed the bandages and cleaned Rayla’s wrist-sore again, and then rebandaged it all with considerably less blood involved. He did grimace at her new arm-bandages, though, because they were already looking a bit bloodied. “You’re still bleeding.” He pointed out, uneasily, at the red showing through. “I might have to change them again soon.”

Rayla followed his gaze, and set her jaw. “…It’ll stop at some point.” She said, resolutely, as though determinedly not considering the alternative.

“…I guess we’re going to be cleaning a lot of bandages tonight.” He sighed, and after a moment, moved the discarded shirt out of the way. “Good job we took the sleeves off this, the other day, or it’d be wrecked.” He made a face at the jacket she’d been wearing. “This…this is pretty cut up, though.”

She inspected it. “Still  better than nothing, in the mountains.” She said, and stood. Her expression was tightly controlled, as if she were trying very hard not to show any sign of the pain she was in.

“Chew some willow bark.” He advised, and folded up the ragged shirt. “Do you want another jacket, or a sweater, or something? It’s kind of cold.”

Rayla blinked, and looked down at her arms, as if only just noticing the amount of skin she had exposed to the elements. A second later, goosebumps rose up over her skin, and she shivered. “Did you _have_ to point that out?” She grumbled, with half-hearted ire. “I didn’t _feel_ cold until you mentioned it.” She looked down at her feet next, which were bare and had gone pink in the toes, and made a face at them. “I can’t believe I fought off a human ambush _bare-footed._ I’m never taking my boots off again.”

He huffed, amused despite everything. “That….sounds like a great way to get boot-rot.” He said, diplomatically, and she made a disgusted noise at him.

“I’d best wear a…sweater, I guess.” She decided after a minute. “That’ll be looser than the jacket, probably.”

He nodded, and went to retrieve it from her bag, grabbing her boots for good measure, which Ezran had set outside the tent with all of their haphazardly-tied cloaks. He was making decent progress, actually, considering he was doing it alone and under distinctly suboptimal conditions. Callum spared some distracted words of encouragement for him before heading back to attend to Rayla, anxious to confirm she hadn’t bled to death in his one minute absence.

He checked her bandages as he arrived; spotting through with blood, but not too bad. He frowned, and went to get some more to tie around. “I _really_ hope that stops soon.” He muttered, almost to himself, setting the sweater and Rayla’s boots down to rummage in his medical things. He found the pair of clean socks he’d been keeping the bottle of alcohol in, and tossed those over with her boots.

“I’ll be fine.” She asserted, very determinedly, as she retrieved the sweater and…then, apparently, encountered some issues. She winced when she raised her freshly-injured arm, and stared at it in dismay. “Oh, this is going to be _horrible._ ” She bemoaned, almost sourly, as if the inconvenience was the worst part about having attained some new awful injuries.

“Don’t put that on yet, I need to add more bandages.” He said, distractedly, and then processed her difficulty. “…Oh, do you want help with that?”

She eyed him in that sort of reluctant, almost annoyed way she always did when she had to admit to needing someone’s help. Eventually, she inclined her head just enough that he could consider it a nod, and he hurried forwards to help her. He put the extra bandages in place first, tying them carefully into place, and then…

With careful effort, he helped her into the soft winter sweater. One of his, of course, a pleasant cable-knit thing warm enough that he’d ordinarily never dream of touching it in May. But it was _cold_ , on this mountain, and she was injured. She needed the warmth. So he got it onto her, navigating its loose wool sleeve over her injuries. He reflected, after sitting back, that maybe it hadn’t been the best idea to put her in the _burgundy_ sweater when she was bleeding. He wouldn’t be able to tell if she’d bled through or not.

“At least this jumper won’t stain, with the colour.” Rayla muttered, a second later, proving that her thoughts were evidently running in very different directions.

He cast her an exasperated glance. “I’d rather know if you’ve bled through it, stain or not.” He told her, and her eyes flicked up to meet his. He hated to see how exhausted she looked, as if the pain and the hardship had chased away every blessing of the night’s sleep already.

“I’ll keep you posted.” She assured him, fingers drifting to rest gingerly over the wool-knit over the deepest laceration.

Callum shuddered, then, and closed his eyes tightly for a few seconds as some of the impact of the last half-hour fell upon him. He’d just – _woken_ up to the sound of yelling, and then she’d been calling their names, and he’d left the tent to find that man looking like he was doing his best to _kill_ her, and – and it really hadn’t properly hit him yet, he _knew._ But the sight of that man raising her own blade above her, about to bring it down-

Fretfully, he cast a glance back towards the cliff, and wondered if the man was likely to be able to mount a pursuit force after them. His leg was broken, right? Or, at least, Rayla thought it had looked broken. So…the man himself wasn’t an immediate risk, now.

He couldn’t have fallen too far from the river, and all the people who lived and worked near it. He’d surely be found – and get medical attention – so he might well end up getting another ambush force on their tail…

“We need to get moving.” Rayla muttered, tiredly, as if aware of the track of his thoughts. Her eyes lingered darkly on the gloom beyond the cliffside. “…Can you go help Ezran finish packing? We can’t stay here.” Her eyes moved sideways to where he’d put her boots and the socks, and after a moment, she snatched them up to start getting them on.

He hesitated, eyes moving between her and her arm. “…Are you sure?”

She huffed at him. “I’m not going to bleed out while you pack the tent up, Callum.” She told him impatiently, and evidently growing a little bad-tempered from the pain. “Just _go._ ”

Still, he couldn’t help but linger at her side, as if physically tethered there. It took him several long, excruciating seconds to stand, to leave her, and pull himself in Ezran’s direction to expedite the camp-breaking.

At least _she_ wasn’t trying to help with it, and had the good sense to stay still while her wounds (hopefully) started to clot up a little.

Ez was sitting on the tent fabric packing tent poles away when Callum arrived by him, and looked up anxiously at his approach. “Is she okay?”

“Okay enough.” He answered, after a moment, and stepped over to start folding the outer-tent up. His hands were shaking. “She wants to get moving fast. So do I, honestly.”

Ezran’s eyes returned, shadowed, to what he was doing. “…Yeah.” He said, quiet. His face had a distinct pallor to it, and it occurred to Callum that this – Rayla’s injuries – was likely the most blood he’d ever seen. Callum had seen the bodies littering the King’s tower, the night of the assassination – but Ezran hadn’t. And this…this was Rayla. Their _friend._ And she was hurt.

Briefly, he reached out and squeezed his brother’s hand. Wished, for a moment, that he could feel the emotional salience through touch like Ez could. Still, he didn’t need magical empathy to tell how his brother was feeling. “She’ll be okay.” Callum promised him, telling himself as much as Ezran. He still felt shaky with nerves and dread. His fingers still trembled. But…

Ez clutched at his fingers, closing his eyes for a moment. Then he nodded, and returned his hands to the task in front of him. Callum moved to help him, because even with the tent boneless and pinned to the ground, it still seemed determined to catch the wind, and it took a bit of wrestling to get it folded up.

They worked side-by-side for several tense, fast-paced minutes, shoving all the tent things into the pack and assembling all their bags. Then he returned to Rayla’s side, hesitated, and gave her his bag. She looked at it questioningly, then up at him, an eyebrow raised.

“It’s just got one strap.” He explained, a little awkwardly. “I usually wear it on my left shoulder, but you – well, you can wear it on your right, so you don’t need to, you know.” He gestured meaningfully at her left shoulder, where a stab wound presided. “So I’ll take your bag instead. And – I’ll take the tent pack, too.”

She’d seemed relatively accepting about the bag trade, but the tent – her eyes narrowed. “Do we need to have another talk about my capabilities, Callum?” She demanded, folding her arms – albeit gingerly. “I’m _injured,_ not _weak.”_

He folded his arms right back at her, and set his shoulders. When it came down to it, there were a lot of times he’d be happy to compromise, but when she was _still bleeding_ from three fresh injuries was not one of them. He took a deep breath, and said “I _know_ you’re not weak, Rayla. But we’re _travelling,_ and that’s hard enough work to be doing when you’re injured – you _should_ be resting! But we _can’t_ _do that._ So instead – just, take my bag, and me and Ez will handle the rest.” Her nostrils flared as she stared at him, some indicator of irritation, and he added “You just…focus on bleeding less, okay?”

Rayla’s eyes moved to the bag, then back to his face again. She said nothing.

He swallowed, not especially wanting to get in an argument about this. There was more than enough unpleasantness to go around already, thank you very much. “…Please?” He said, in the end, expression as pleading as he could make it. He wasn’t entirely expecting it to work, but-

She huffed out a breath, and looked away. The next second, she took the bag from his fingers. “…Fine.” She grumbled, and stood. “But we get moving _now._ ” It evidently took some careful manoeuvring to get the bag strap over her right shoulder, with her left arm so thoroughly injured, but she managed it, striding up the cliff-slope to Ez.

Ezran was already wearing his bag, and had Bait in his arms, still lit-up, still coloured unhappy grey. “We’re leaving?” He questioned, after a worried look up at her.

Callum slung Rayla’s bag over his shoulders, and determinedly did not make a face at how much _heavier_ it was. She’d really been pulling way more than her share of the weight lately, hadn’t she? And he had the tent pack to carry, too…

He didn’t mind, though. He’d much rather labour under an unaccustomed weight than let her work harder than she needed to when she’d just been sliced up by some mad attacker guy. He paused with the thought, as he bent to pick up the tent pack, and looked back towards the cliff.

Who _was_ that man? Why had he attacked them?

…He’d known that Callum and Ezran were there. As in, known who they were. He’d called them ‘ _my princes’._

“Problem?” Rayla asked, as he looked towards the cliff edge.

“…I can’t help but wonder if that guy was trying to help us.” He admitted, and at her incredulous look, hastily added “Me and Ez, I mean. He seemed to know who we were. Maybe he had the wrong idea about something.”

“He attacked us.” Rayla said, bluntly, fingers lingering at her upper arm. “If he wanted to help, he should have tried talking first, instead of trying to kill me.” He winced, but nodded.

“…Should we do anything with the hook?” He wondered, after a moment, looking at the coil of chain with the bloodied hook on the end, left on the ground where they’d pulled it off of Rayla.

“Just leave it.” She said, already turning to move into the trees. “If the guy wants to come back for it when he’s recovered, he knows where to go.” Looking at her walk away, Callum almost wouldn’t have been able to tell that she was injured and bleeding. But the line of her shoulders was a little too tight, and she was still holding her wounded upper arm.

He exhaled, gut churning with upset and fear. “…Okay.” He said, softly, but lingered with his uncertainty even after he spoke. In the end, he picked up the hook on the chain and dragged it to the cliffside, putting it just on the edge where it would slide and fall over the edge on its own. He’d returned the attacker’s weapon to him – not quite enough to assuage his guilt at nearly killing the man, but…it was something.

This done, he turned around and followed after Rayla, who was by now disappearing into the treeline. He caught Ezran’s hand as he passed him, his brother shifting the glow-toad in his other arm to compensate, and they followed together after her with the comfort of their joined hands hanging between them.

 

\---

 

They walked at a particularly harsh pace that day, each of them more mindful than ever of the urgency of their situation. Rayla’s bag and the tent pack together were honestly more than Callum could easily cope with, but he forced himself onwards anyway, helping Ezran up the steeper and rockier areas and trudging grimly onwards.

The trees grew sparser and sparser yet as they ascended, and the winds more vicious. Callum grimaced at the gusts that kept snatching at his scarf, and tucked its edges into his jacket as he climbed, glancing to Rayla every time he could to gauge how she was doing. Despite the blood she’d lost, and the undoubtedly excruciating injuries…she wasn’t slowing down at all. She was at the front of their group as usual, forging ahead to find the best path as usual, setting their pace as usual…

To look at her, if he hadn’t been present for the rude early-morning awakening, he would never have guessed she’d sustained such brutal injuries. He wasn’t sure what he thought about that. Moonshadow elves seemed to be really hung up on stoicism, and not showing weakness, and hiding pain, and…yeah, he was pretty sure he didn’t like it. It made him worry all the more, to think that she might be having a hard time and not _saying_ anything about it. If she could walk like nothing was wrong when someone had nearly killed her this morning…then what _else_ might be wrong that he couldn’t see?

Still, the pace of the travel combined with the nearly doubled weight on his shoulders made it hard enough to breathe, let alone worry. He sweated so heavily from the exertion that he felt a paradoxical mix of overheated and frozen at once – his fingers and ears and cheeks were absolutely _frigid,_ and so was everywhere the sweat could cool, but underneath the clothes he felt unbearably hot. The inclement weather certainly wasn’t helping with any of it, either. In the daylight, it became clear that it wasn’t just the wind, today – the sky was thoroughly overcast, putting the world into sullen shadow that made everything feel just that little bit more awful. In the mountains, that sort of cloud cover apparently meant that everything was _freezing,_ and the air was bitterly cold as a result.

He considered stopping to get out some full-finger gloves. Maybe a hat, and an extra scarf. In the end, the pervasive sense of urgency and dread pushed him too sternly for him to want to stop for that long. A nameless, breathless fear drew his eyes to Rayla again and again, watching her anxiously for any sign of pain, any hint that she’d falter, _anything._ And through it all, he pushed himself through his exhaustion until his breath felt thin and his vision swam with exertion.

Ordinarily, he’d have pushed for quick breaks at least four times now, especially after the most challenging steep sections. Ordinarily, he’d have wheedled Rayla into slowing down a little, to accommodate the tired legs and heaving lungs of her less-fit companions. Today, though…he only thought of the man who’d ambushed them, and the second he’d stood with the blade raised over Rayla, and – he shivered, and forced himself forwards.

It was somewhat novel, then, for Rayla to be the one to call for a break first. She stopped them beneath a rocky outcropping that was loosely sheltered from the wind, perhaps three or four hours after they’d started walking. Given their very early awakening, it was still mid-morning, at the latest.

Rayla made both of them eat something – and partook herself – before she’d let him check on her injuries. By that point it was very, very obvious to him how carefully still she was keeping her arm, and how tensely she was holding herself to brace against the pain, and – he just – he _hated_ it. Why was it that literally a _day_ after they dealt with the last major threat to her, something like _this_ had to happen? He’d just started to hope, just started to feel glad and happy that things were turning out better than he thought they would, and now…

He swallowed his misery, feeling sick and exhausted, and got on with his job.

Rayla needed help to remove the sweater, the over-head movement of her injured arm apparently paining her when she tried it herself. So, carefully, he and Ez eased it off of her, exposing the bloodied undershirt and the gratuitous layers of bandage that he’d tied around her wounds.

He grimaced at the sight of them; red, plainly red, at a mere glance. They’d bled through – all of the ones on her arm, anyway. The shoulder one seemed fine so far.

“…Well, we definitely need to change those.” He said determinedly, in place of any panicked comment he might have made. “Ez, can you get the clean bandages, and the disinfectant? Thanks.” While his brother was rooting around for the unfortunately familiar location of the field-healing stuff, Callum shuffled over to Rayla’s left side and carefully reached out to untie the bandages.

She watched him as he worked, suppressing winces all the while, no matter how gentle and careful he tried to be. “Didn’t think it had bled through like that.” She said, apologetically, as he removed the upper arm bandage. “My jumper wasn’t wet or anything, so…”

“…It’s okay. But maybe we should check on it more for the rest of the day.” He said, and then _winced_ as he exposed the wound. In the clear light of day, it just – it looked _awful._ Horribly, viciously, luridly red, dark with blood, the edges of the lacerations so tattered and uneven…

….And, he noted with unease, the blood hadn’t clotted nearly as much as he’d have liked it to. The wound had started to form a thick and sludgy scab around its edges, sure, but….

It seemed oddly reluctant to stop bleeding. The middle hadn’t coagulated much at all, and even now, was loosing a sluggish trickle of dark blood down the side of her arm. He caught it with the old bandage, making a face, and Rayla met his eyes with worry.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, with an edge to her voice, like she was trying not to sound scared.

“…I think it should have scabbed more than this.” He answered, quietly, not even attempting to conceal his own worry. “It’s been _hours,_ but it’s still bleeding. I…don’t know if that’s normal.”

Ezran’s fingers tightened around the edges of his bag, eyes wide and blue and frightened. He inhaled a short steadying breath before he withdrew the clean bandages, the scissors, and the disinfectant from the bag. Callum wished he could spare a moment to reassure him, but he was too busy with the wounds.

She stared back at him, shoulders tensing, and he dabbed another thin rivulet of red from her skin. “…So, what, was that hook poisoned?” She asked, which was an interesting first thought. It hadn’t been _his_ first thought, for sure. “Some sort of anti-clotting thing?”

“I mean, I can’t say for sure?” he answered reflexively, a little surprised. “I don’t know, though. I was thinking more about medicines. I know there’s some painkillers you’re not meant to give to people with open wounds – that was in my field-healing – but I can’t remember what they _are_.”

Rayla blinked. “….The lilium?” She ventured, brow furrowing. “But it’s been over a _day…_ ”

He hesitated. “Honestly, it’s not the lilium I’m worried about.” He admitted, and turned to the side. “Ez, pass me the stuff?”

Silently, wordlessly, his brother obliged. And then he went digging in Callum’s bag while he applied some of the alcohol to a clean edge of bandage.

Rayla caught his meaning at once. “You _don’t_ mean the willow-bark.” She said, aghast, and he was as unhappy at the implication as her. If she had to stop using the only pain-control thing they _had_ which didn’t also make her completely helpless for hours…

“…I don’t know. I didn’t know you could use willow-bark as pain relief before you told me, so it could still be something else.” He said, honestly, as he dabbed carefully around the wound, not wanting to disturb what clots had formed. She bore the attentions with a grimace and an all-over tightening of her posture, but didn’t move, and didn’t make a sound. “…But I remember it was something common and easy to get. So…maybe.” He set the alcohol aside, and brought up clean bandages to tightly bind the wound. This time, with some extra padding to soak up the blood.

She scowled, muttering some low Draconic curse that he recognised as an imprecation against the New Moon. “I think you’re _right,_ ” She said, sounding utterly disgusted. “I remember something like that, too. Not to use aspirin when you’re injured. And willow bark works _because_ of aspirin. _Ugh._ ”

He eyed her for a second. “What’s aspirin?” he inquired, tying the bandage back into place. He considered the one at her shoulder for a second, but decided to leave it be for now. It hadn’t bled through the bandages, so he’d take a look at it later.

“The stuff that’s in willow-bark.” Rayla elaborated, still profoundly unhappy with this new revelation. “The chemical that makes it a painkiller. So…no more willow-bark for me.”

He winced sympathetically, and was about to offer some commiserating comment when Ezran spoke up. “What’s the healer-y word for something that makes you bleed for longer?” he asked, and when Callum looked over, he was holding a familiar bit of paper. The lilium dosage and side-effect sheet?

“Anticoagulant.” Callum supplied, after a moment of thought. It sounded about right, anyway.

Ezran peered carefully through the dense list of complicated words, and nodded. “Nothing about that on here. So I think lilium’s still good.”

“Lilium would also make me waltz off the side of the mountain.” Rayla said, dryly, inspecting his bandage-work for a moment. “So I’ll have to pass on that, too.”

Ezran shot her a look. A very familiar, very stubborn look. “I think you should try some again tonight. Less than you took before.” He said, firmly. “Like maybe don’t take a proper drop this time, just a little bit off the spoon, or something. That way it won’t affect you as bad. You’ve got to take _something,_ or you’ll be up all night hurting again.”

Rayla eyed him warily at the same time that Callum eyed him with approval. Clearly, Ezran was picking up some good caretaking instincts from all of this. “It’s not _that_ bad.” She said, with deliberate confidence. “I’ll be fine.”

Unimpressed, Ezran reached out and took her still-bound hand, squeezing it as if in a gesture of support. He twitched, as if someone had poked him in the skin with a needle, and looked up at her. “It’s not too bad yet because you’re still on the willow-bark.” He reminded her, and she grimaced. “And it’s already _plenty_ bad.”

Very carefully, he put Rayla’s hand down, and withdrew again. Something about the whole sequence nagged at Callum, and he peered across at his brother with interest. “Ezran,” he said, slowly. “Can you… _feel_ it? What she’s feeling?” Rayla shot a look at him that was pure alarm, and…well, he could see why. “Like, _feeling_ feeling, not just emotions, but…” He gestured, meaningfully, towards the wounds.

Looking a little shifty, Ezran looked away, and nodded. “…yeah. Kinda.” His eyes slid briefly to Rayla’s hand, and then away again. “It’s…still kind of a new thing. Especially with people – I’ve been able to feel how animals are doing for a lot longer, especially when they’re in pain. But _people_ …” he shrugged. “I’m getting better, I guess. I never used to be able to pick up this much.”

Rayla edged away from him then, looking oddly alarmed. “You were _holding my hand,_ down by that river, when I was trying to get my gauntlet off.” She remembered, expression a little horrified. “And you said – you need to be _touching,_ to – Ezran!” All of a sudden, she seemed genuinely upset, even on the edge of anger. Ez responded to that tone almost instantly, shoulders hunching and jaw squaring.

“What?” he demanded, defensively. “I’m sorry I spied on your feelings without asking, but-“

“I don’t care about _that.”_ Rayla interrupted, now fully bristling. Callum looked between her and his brother with alarm, raising his hands as if to quell the rising voices. What was she so _upset_ about? “I care about you – _hurting_ yourself, when you don’t need to! What were you _thinking?_ ”

Oh.

All of a sudden, Callum was pretty upset too. Rayla had been in some _serious_ pain, lately, what with her hand being so awful. Pain enough for her to cry. Pain enough for her to be awake all night, sleepless and suffering. And now, when that pain was starting to ebb, she got these _injuries,_ and Ezran just…went in and took her hand, like he’d done all those other times when she’d been hurting. And, apparently, he’d done that with the full awareness that some of that pain would carry over to him.

“It’s not like it hurts as bad for me as it does for you.” Ezran told her, indignantly, and crossed his arms. “It’s _fine._ I _wanted_ to hold your hand, when you were hurting. You deserve to have people there for you.”

Callum’s heart hurt, a little. His brother was _such_ a good kid. But…he opened his mouth to point something out, but was beaten out by Rayla.

“That doesn’t mean you should put _yourself_ in pain to help _me._ ” Rayla shot back, twice as indignant and still plainly incensed. “I’ve got Callum, haven’t I? _He_ doesn’t feel what I’m feeling – it doesn’t have to be _you._ I’m already in enough pain for all three of us, but that doesn’t mean you need to start _sharing it around!_ ”

He’d hardly had a moment to flush a little, at her obvious unthinking awareness that he was there to support her, when Ezran squared his shoulders and glared up at Rayla with an almost regal sort of affront. “I _know_ you’re in enough pain for all of us, remember? I’ve _felt_ it. And _I_ can just let go of your hand and stop hurting whenever I want! _You_ can’t do that. So if I want to hold your hand and get a little hurt when I’m helping you, that’s _fine._ ”

“It’s not ‘ _fine’_!” Rayla denied, scowling. “You think I _want_ to be hurting you, Ez? I’ve been – _hurting you_ all this time and I didn’t even _know._ That’s not fair to either of us!”

“ _You’re_ not hurting me!” Ez returned, with just as fierce a scowl. “ _I’m_ hurting me, so don’t go blaming yourself for more stuff you shouldn’t!” She froze at that, with a strange wariness Callum didn’t quite know how to parse, and…

And, he didn’t quite remember Rayla talking about any feelings of self-recrimination.

…How much more had Ez gleaned than simply pain?

“If I want to reach out and touch a fire and get hurt, that’s just my dumb choice.” Ezran went on, into the silence Rayla left. “And if I want to take your hand to make you feel better and get hurt, that’s my dumb choice too. _You_ don’t get to make that choice for me. So _there.”_ He nodded, sharply, as if he thought that thoroughly concluded the matter.

Evidently, it didn’t. Rayla broke from her quiet with an almost violently fast motion, shaking her head. “ _You_ don’t get to decide to _hurt yourself_ using me!” She returned, stridently. “Shouldn’t _I_ get a say in who I hurt? Ezran, this is _crazy.”_ He stared back, unrepentant, and she whirled around to Callum with an almost fierce intensity. “ _Tell him,_ Callum!”

He held his hands up reflexively, wide-eyed, and looked between them. “I don’t – Rayla, I think…I think this is something that the two of you have got to work out yourselves.”

Ezran looked smug, for a second. “But he’s your _brother._ ” Rayla said, scandalised. “Shouldn’t you care that he’s hurting himself?”

Callum sighed, gut squirming with the discomfort of the conflict, and turned to stare very seriously at Ez for a long few silent seconds. His brother, for his part, started to look a little less smug and a little more wary. “I _don’t_ like that you’re hurting yourself when you don’t need to, Ez.” He said, finally, and Ezran’s face fell. “I care about you, and I don’t want you to be hurt. But…” He looked, uneasily, at Rayla. “I do kind of think it’s your choice if you do it or not.”

“ _Callum._ ” Rayla scolded him while Ezran brightened.

He shrugged helplessly. “Look, Rayla, it’d be one thing if…I don’t know, you shared injuries and he started actually bleeding or whatever. But….” He trailed off, exhaled, and rubbed a hand over his face. “I _don’t_ like it.” He said, plaintively, to his brother. “I _don’t._ I don’t want you hurt, Ez, especially since it’s not like you can magically make her pain go away or anything, all you’re doing is making _both_ of you hurt. I don’t know. I _don’t know_ what’s right, here.”

“Having someone to support you when you’re hurting is important.” Ezran reminded him, sternly, as if he was likely to forget.

“I _know._ ” Callum said, exasperated. “But Rayla’s right – I’m here too, aren’t I? Can’t you just support her in ways that _don’t_ involve you hurting yourself, while I – hold her hand, or whatever?” He felt his skin heat a little at the words, and didn’t look at her.

Ez eyed him mulishly. He folded his arms again.

“…Ez?” Callum prompted.

His brother swept his eyes down and away, and when he spoke again, it was in a sullen mutter that was typical of him, when he thought he was losing an argument. “It’s not like I’m doing it all the time.” He said, as though a reprimand. “I’m just doing it _sometimes_ , to check on her. Or because I _want_ to hug her or hold her hand or whatever, and I don’t mind it hurting a little to do that. _That’s_ okay, isn’t it?” He looked up and stared at Callum as if daring him to say otherwise.

Callum glanced quickly to the side, peering at Rayla for a brief second in his periphery. He considered whether he’d be willing to stop…the casual shoulder-touches, or nudges, or helping her with her hand, or helping her with her injuries, just because he felt a little of her pain when he did… “…I think so.” He admitted, a little reluctantly.

“ _Callum._ ” She complained, though much like Ezran, the fight seemed to have gone out of her.

“I think…under most circumstances, it’s okay.” Callum said, slowly, still coming to his conclusions. “But, Ez, what you did by the river, when we were getting her gauntlet off…I don’t really think that was a good idea. That must have really hurt.” Rayla, to his side, nodded very sharply.

“Not as much as it hurt her.” Ezran argued, still unrepentant.

“I’m sitting right here, you know.” She reminded him, perhaps getting a little irritated at being called ‘her’ so many times in such a short span of time.

If anything, that just seemed to reignite his brother’s stubbornness. His shoulders squared, and he declared, straight to her face, “If I need to, I’m _going to_ hold your hand when you’re in pain and _be there for you_ whether you like it or not, and that’s _my choice._ So _there_.”

The way she looked at him was really very, very familiar. Irritation and reluctant fondness all at once. It was a look that said _‘why is my little brother so stupidly, annoyingly stubborn’._ It might well have been an exact replica of the many times Callum had looked at Ez like that over the years, and as such, was intensely relatable. It was a very older-siblingly sort of look, and made him eye her consideringly.

“…You’re a stubborn kid, Ez.” She said to him, eventually, and he puffed up with pride like it had been a compliment.

“More stubborn than a mule, and twice as headstrong.” Ezran agreed. “That’s what dad says.”

She flinched, and looked away. “He’s not wrong.” She muttered, with an edge of something strange in her voice. “Look, Ezran….” She paused, to collect her thoughts, and looked back at her new apparent surrogate younger brother with a furrowed brow. “It’s sweet that you care so much.” She settled on eventually. “But if I think you’re putting yourself in too much pain, I _will_ push you away. We clear?”

Ezran eyed her in the grumpy conceding-an-argument way of stubborn younger siblings everywhere. “…We’re clear.” He admitted, reluctantly. Rayla nodded at him, satisfied, and rose up to her feet.

“Good.” She said. “Because that arguing took long enough that it’s time to get going again. The mountain isn’t going to cross itself.”

Both of them sighed, more or less in unison, and set to packing all their bits away. It was the conclusion of what, in retrospect, had been as siblingly an argument as any he’d ever heard. As Callum rose and followed Rayla back out along the windy mountain path, he wondered when and how he was supposed to break the news to her that she obviously had a younger brother now.

 

\---

 

Corvus’ head swam with pain, enough that the world tilted and warped crazily around its edges. He blinked rapidly, and gritted his teeth, and breathed in short effortful bursts through his nose as he tried to focus enough to do something useful. Enough to keep the dizziness manageable, and _not_ pass out at the base of a cliff where no one would find him before he died from exposure or blood loss or dehydration or whatever got him first-

Was he even bleeding? It was hard to tell. Everything hurt, and the idea of moving was utterly intolerable. He lay there, and breathed, and closed his eyes until the indistinct murmurs of voices from the cliff above strayed closer.

He stared up, vision blurry and full of distortion, and saw a pale head peering over the edge. Looking down at him. He held still, and kept his eyes open, and _on her,_ no matter how awful he felt. He couldn’t show weakness to an enemy. Except-

It hadn’t been the _elf_ that blew him off the cliff, had it?

His head hurt. He could hardly focus enough to string two thoughts together, let alone contemplate the unnatural force that had swept him off his feet, and where it might have come from. For several moments, his most desperate drive was to stay intent on the face of his enemy, peering down, _watching_ him. But then she receded, the voice-murmurs sounding again, and then…steadily, receding.

He slumped, head pounding with pain and body screaming with pain and _everything_ hurting until it all became a homogenised mass that was hard to clarify into anything helpful. He needed to assess his condition. Perform what field-healing he could, by himself. Get back to work…

…Except, no. He might not know the extent of his injury, yet, but he doubted it was so minor as to allow him to set back upon his pursuit. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t fulfil the mission.

 _I failed her,_ he thought, numbly, with a confused and crushing jumble of unhappy feelings. _Failed the General, failed the Princes…._

He took the deepest, most steadying breaths he could manage, and tried to separate out the mass of pain into something more informative. He twitched his toes, on either foot, and that wasn’t painful except how it spoke to something further up the legs. Or…just one leg? It was hard to tell…

He closed his eyes, puffed out strained breath, and focused. His left leg hurt, but not too awfully. His _right…_ something was wrong there. Very, very painfully wrong. On instinct, he tried to reach out to feel along the leg for the damage, but – that movement _hurt,_ and didn’t come out right. He choked back a cry as pain whited out his vision, turning the world to formless, dizzying nonsense. When his vision finally cleared – after some interminable amount of time that had slipped past his perception – he was laying collapsed on his side.

He blinked, bleary-eyed and confused, as he tried to piece some of his scattered wits together. Tentatively, he moved a hand – on the other arm – over to the opposite shoulder.

The shape was wrong. The pain – well, that wasn’t supposed to be there, either.

 _Dislocated?_ He wondered, thoughts spinning like a leaf in the wind. Wind, like that which had carried him over the cliff edge… _Or broken?_

He couldn’t tell. It was still so dark. Though…less than it had been.

He tried to sit up. To stagger upright and lean against the cliff face whose roots he’d fallen to. The movement sent aftershocks of agony all through his body, pooling and resounding in a dozen disparate sites, ringing and echoing like temple bells…

He lost time. The world was blurred and strange, alternately white and white-hot, pain sparking in cold, staticky crackles. When he next became aware enough to think, and observe his surroundings, he was slumped (upright!) against the rock, and something – _something_ had jolted him into awareness. A sound. A sound, nearby, loud and startling, like a something falling, something clattering and heavy and metallic…

Corvus stared along the cliff-base, noting uneasily that it was much lighter now, and dawn was bleeding in the sky. The red light glinted on metal chains coiled like snakes, coiled around the shape of a familiar hook, still blood-spattered on the prongs.

He stared blankly at it for several seconds, unable to think clearly enough to account for his hook-chain’s arrival. Had it fallen off the cliff? Had it been _dropped_ off the cliff? He…didn’t understand. It was difficult to think. More difficult still to reconcile the materialisation of a weapon the elf had wrested from him.

Finally, he processed the realisation that his confusion – the scattered thoughts and the formless pain and the time-lapsing – wasn’t normal. Dazedly, he raised a hand to his head, felt around his skull for pain. And there – at the side, some way above his left ear. He drew fingers away that were wet with blood.

 _Head wounds bleed vigorously,_ he remembered, in a way disconnected from any true understanding or cognition. Then, as if adding to a scrupulous list, he took the blood and the confusion and thought _concussion._

Dislocated shoulder. Concussion. Something wrong with his leg…

It took a long time, between bursts of pain and timelessness and a consciousness swaying to and fro like a pendulum. It took a long time, but he extracted his medical supplies from one of the secreted pouches in his armour. It took even longer, to lay the things out and comprehend what he was to do with them. The tiny phial of lilium, he wetted a finger on. Dripped a fluid as red as blood onto his tongue, and closed his eyes.

When he next opened them, the world was much brighter, and there was no pain. But the haze of the lilium was a hard thing to struggle through, with his head already injured. Corvus had some experience with it, though, and he managed. It was much easier to think – much easier to act – without the pain.

Without the pain, though, it was also harder to catalogue his injuries. He observed that the shapes of two fingers on his left hand were not right, as the shape of the shoulder was not right. He puzzled over this for a while, and eventually set arm and hand both into a sling. It took a while. It was hard to do one-handed, and harder while concussed and drugged.

His head turned out to have stopped bleeding at some point, and was slowly marrying a fairly horrific scab to the shape of his hair. This he disinfected, the scent of the alcohol stinging the air, though it was hard to do with his hair there and in the way.

His leg he puzzled over, because it hurt enough that he could feel it even through the lilium. The damage was half-way down the shin, maybe. In the end, it was very hard to assess its condition through his clothing and armour bracing, and he didn’t have any faith at all in his ability to undress himself of armour in this condition. What mattered was that he probably couldn’t walk on it.

Slowly, ponderously, Corvus considered the cliff. Considered the placement of it, and what it had overlooked. It was part of the sheer cliff-walls that made up the Verdorn gorge, wasn’t it? There was a river nearby. A river that passed down from the mountain valley, between Dorel and Farel, a river that carried lumber and ore and stone down through Verdorn, its banks dotted with mills…

There were probably people quite close. He just had to find the river. It couldn’t be far. Just…away from the cliff edge…

Dazedly, in stops and starts, Corvus pulled himself up. He cast a glance to his hook and chain, but with some regret, left it. It was too heavy for him to risk weighing himself down with. In the end, he staggered to the nearest trees, his damaged leg lancing him with pain even through the shield of lilium, and with considerable struggle snapped off a large enough branch to use as a cane. His fingers trembled and two of them were certainly broken and he felt weak as a kitten, but…he managed.

Head swimming and world swaying, Corvus leaned against his stick, and staggered away from the cliff.

He wasn’t entirely aware of his stumbling through the forest. His awareness came in hazy, dreamlike stretches of time – he remembered bracing himself against the trunk of a tree to keep from falling, remembered the sight of a startled rabbit sprinting away from him, remembered the sound of the water rushing louder and louder in his ears…

And then he was on the river bank, sat down, blankly watching the waters passing by. It took him a while to find anything strange in that. He should be moving, shouldn’t he? He should be searching for a mill, or…or, something. Any human presence at all. Anyone that could help him to medical attention – and a rookery. He needed to get a message to the General, didn’t he? There was so much he needed to pass on.

But…instead, here he was. Staring at the waters of the river, numb.

Some interminable length of time passed before a barge, heavy with lumber, passed into view up-current. The sight of it ought to have meant something, but his thoughts were drifting strangely, and all he could do was watch it. Watch it draw closer along the current, watch the men aboard it spot him, rise with alarm, start calling…

He should have called back. Should have solicited aid. But he couldn’t quite manage it. The barge passed by, too solidly in the river’s grip to pull aside so easily, and then there was nothing but the water and the forest-sounds around him, full of the wind in the leaves and the songs of birds, and the way that awareness swam around the edges of lilium-numbed pain.

Eventually, the sight and sound of the water was…lulling. Inviting, in a way, but he couldn’t conceive of moving far enough to drink from the river. So instead he watched it, and watched, and watched until his eyelids drooped and the ground beckoned and a drugged sleep came upon him like a drowning wave.

Corvus slept, and felt no pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Notes:**
> 
>  
> 
>  If anyone wants to know my secret for how I’m putting out such large chapters so often: the secret is that I’ve had the majority of it written for months, since I do not write chronologically. Piaj as it stands has around 310k written for it total. My actual word count for the last week is almost exactly 25k (Thursday 28 to Thursday 5th), which is still Lots, but like. Not four whole chapters of piaj lots.
> 
> Next chapter I ended up having to start from scratch, because what I thought was going to be chapter 14 actually turned out to be more 15. There is currently nearly 3k written of it, which is decidedly less than a chapter, so depending on how productive I am this weekend, the next chapter could take a bit longer. 
> 
>  
> 
> **Timeline:**
> 
>  This chapter covers the first part of 20.05, Day 10 (8 since start of journey).  
> The morning’s campsite, which they were rudely ambushed in, was at 1500m, on the mountain Dorel.
> 
>  **On the cliffside showdown:**  
>  I find it charming how many of you read last chapter and were still optimistic enough to think there would be Talking and Conciliation when Corvus caught up. He literally sat there and came to the conclusion of ‘I must ambush and subdue/kill this elf without allowing her to go anywhere near the princes in case she kills one’, and most of you were like I wonder if he’s going to tell them about the king. Bless your hearts. You had no idea of the blood I had already spilled.
> 
> Yes, Corvus would have killed her. Yes, Callum saved her life. Yes, Corvus and Rayla are now really quite injured. Which means: wound care! Lots of it! For chapters and chapters to come! I hope you all like wound care.
> 
>    
>  **Medical stuff:**
> 
>    
> Aspirin is indeed the painkiller in willow bark, and does indeed act as an anticoagulant. 
> 
> Cuts that reach the fat layer are typically stitched up, because otherwise they kind of…gape, and the scarring ends up pretty severe. Luckily, Rayla’s worst laceration only barely goes that deep in one specific part – where the hook went in – but it’s still a deep and nasty wound, and she’s definitely getting three new varyingly impressive scars out of this ordeal. Also, it’s going to take a while for her to stop bleeding, what with the aspirin still in her system.
> 
> Corvus is very battered and also concussed, so, he’s decidedly not going to be picking up the pursuit again any time soon.
> 
>    
>  **On story sections:**  
>   
> 
> This chapter marks the beginning of the second story section of piaj. At present, the outline has 17 sections, with later events likely to clarify into further sections past the 16 mark. The first story section is called Approaching the Belt, and concluded last chapter. This section now is decidedly shorter, and is titled The Thundersnow. Let that be a teaser for all of you. It’s hard to say exactly, but I wouldn’t expect section 2 to last longer than…idk, four chapters. Five at most. Though I could be wrong. The section after that will be called Crossing the Belt. Most sections after that…well, their names are kind of spoilery.
> 
> I’ve decided to name all of the chapters according to their story section, whenever I get around to it. It’s not so important now, but it’ll be useful later on when there’s sixty odd chapters across ten to fifteen different sections. …Probably a lot more than sixty chapters, honestly.
> 
> As always, if you had a good time, or if you saw the chapter warnings and became alarmed, or if you read the chapter and were like ‘holy fuck what are you doing to those poor characters’, or whatever, please leave a comment or enrich my stats in some way. Cheers!


End file.
